


Here There Be Monsters

by AlElizabeth



Series: Weary Saints [1]
Category: Criminal Minds, Supernatural
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:00:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4442090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter title comes from a Martin Garrix song.</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. I Disappear

No man is clever enough to know all the evil he does – Francois de La Rochefoucauld

With a rustle, Dean flipped through the pages of a newspaper, one of many, that were piled on top of his lap.

"Uh… a couple of city maintenance workers in Chicago were killed while repairing a broken water-main… ohh and the third guy got paralyzed," Dean piped up after reading the article for a moment.

Sam answered with a non-committal grunt.

"No Chicago then," Dean said and tossed the paper into the backseat, "didn't like the movie anyway."

Sam kept his eyes on the road.

"Dean," Sam finally spoke up.

His brother looked at him, one eyebrow raised, "what?"

"I'm all for keeping busy and everything but… doesn't it feel just a little bit like we're beating a dead horse, here?" Sam muttered as though reluctant to voice his opinion.

Dean's expression turned somewhat serious, "you didn't want me obsessing over Dick Roman so I'm not and now you think I'm drowning myself in work because I can't get what I want?"

"I'm just saying that you've always had a one-track mind," Sam said cautiously, not in the mood to start arguing.

Dean bit his tongue against a not-so-nice reply and went back to scanning the newest paper without speaking.

He flipped to the back pages, "Huh."

"What?" Sam sighed, exasperated.

"I'm just reading you're horoscope and it says that you are going be a bitch and not talk to your totally awesome brother for the next six hours," Dean grinned as he spoke and raised an eyebrow.

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Dean turned his attention back to the papers, sifting through them and then pausing, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You know what? Screw these, let's just stop at the next town and take a mini vacation," Dean threw all the papers into the backseat and Sam looked confused.

"You do know what a vacation is, right?" Dean asked playfully, "It's where you don't do anything, don't think about anything- just eat and sleep and watch porn on the Internet- and you're happy."

Sam grimaced; it had been a long time since he had felt genuine joy and he wondered why Dean was so concerned about their own contentment now.

Sam didn't reply but Dean knew he'd do as he asked.

Dean stole a glance at his brother from the corner of his eye- Sam's jaw was clenched tight, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel- and knew that they did need a break from hunting, if only for a day or two.

SPN

Cunningham knew all about monsters. Not the TV monsters he'd watched with his brother late at night when they were kids. He knew that the Wolfman and Frankenstein and the zombies from Night of the Living Dead were just actors in make-up.

Those monsters were fake. No, the monsters Cunningham knew about were real.

The first monster Cunningham had met had pretended to be his brother. Mom and Pop had been so glad that Louis had come back from the war alive but Cunningham knew that what walked through their front door was not his brother.

Now the monsters were everywhere it seemed, pretending to be people, thinking they were fooling everyone.

But they couldn't fool Cunningham, no, he saw what they really were and he knew that he had to do something about it.

No one ever listened to Cunningham. He hadn't told anyone about the monsters, but no one listened to him anyways.

That was fine though, Cunningham didn't need anyone to listen. He preferred to work on his own anyway; it was better that like that.

W

Cunningham peered over the top of his newspaper, eyes focused on nothing but the monster sitting at the opposite end of the diner. He had been watching it for over half an hour.

Cunningham was just itching to tell Susie, the waitress about the monster but he didn't, it was better if no one knew or else he'd cause a panic.

"Anything else I can get you?" Cunningham looked up to see Susie standing beside his booth with a coffeepot in her hand.

Cunningham shook his head and Susie walked away to ask some other customers. He had ordered a coffee but had not bothered with it since the monster had walked in.

He was anxious, he wasn't scared, but he was worried that the monster might escape. Cunningham quickly slid his gaze around the diner, taking in the other patrons, acting natural.

Carefully, so as not to be noticed, Cunningham watched as the monster stood and walked out of the diner.

Cunningham waited for a moment and then stood, put some money on the table for his untouched coffee and followed.

The streetlights were blown out along the stretch of road- the idiots in City Hall too lazy to hire anyone to repair them- and cast the road and storefronts in shadows.

Looking around, Cunningham didn't see the monster and wondered briefly if it had vanished.

No, it was there, walking quickly down the street. Head bowed and hands in the pockets of its jacket.

Cunningham followed at a distance, his footsteps nearly silent from practice. He walked patiently, quietly. The monster did not notice.

Cunningham slid into the shadows when the monster raised its head and looked behind, a look of suspicion across its face. Cunningham barely dared to breathe.

The monster shrugged its broad shoulders and continued walking.

Cunningham knew this monster was going to be a challenge- it was different than the other ones he'd caught before- but with the right tools it shouldn't be too much trouble.

He watched as the monster slipped between two buildings and Cunningham didn't hesitate to follow. He knew that the alley only led to a dead end.

The monster had walked right into a trap.

The alley was dark and narrow; it smelled of garbage, rust and mould. There was a rusted green Dumpster and crushed, damp cardboard boxes.

Cunningham's heart sped up- where was the monster?

He stepped deeper and deeper into the alley, eyes peeled and adrenaline pumping- he was ready.

The monster was ready for him also, it seemed. It leaped out from behind the Dumpster and slammed him against the brick wall.

Cunningham's breath was knocked from him as the beast loomed over him.

"Why are you following me?" is snarled in his face, he could smell its breath- coffee and meat.

Cunningham grunted and his hand inched toward the pocket of his sports jacket, fingers groping for his gun.

The monster had a handful of his jacket and shirt twisted in its fist, its eyes flashed green and it slammed him against the wall a second time.

"Why were you watching me?" it asked in a low, dangerous voice and Cunningham silently rejoiced when his fingers wrapped around the gun's handle.

He whipped the weapon out and pressed it hard to the monster's chest. The creature instantly released him, raising its hands in the universal gesture of surrender. Before the monster could react though, Cunningham moved into action.

You're not getting the jump on me; Cunningham thought and pulled the trigger.

The monster jerked and then collapsed to the ground in a heap. Cunningham leaned down and put to fingers to the monster's neck, searching for a pulse. It was there, clear and strong.

Cunningham grunted in a satisfied way and pocketed his Taser gun.

He walked casually out of the alley, he knew the monster would not wake up in the time it took for him to pull his van around, and he moved at a leisurely pace.

Once his van was in position- its double doors wide open to the mouth of the alley- Cunningham grabbed the monster under the arms and dragged it to the vehicle. He had a little difficulty getting the creature into the van, the monster was heavy but Cunningham was strong and the limp body was easily manipulated.

Cunningham gagged the monster with an old tea towel secured in a tight knot at the back of its head. He hogtied the monster's arms and legs behind its back of it with a length of course yellow rope he'd bought at the hardware store and then wrapped the creature's wrists and ankles in duct tape as an extra precaution.

Cunning examined his handiwork with an air of pride- he was getting better at this and he smiled- those monsters never saw him coming.

He slipped out the back of the van, closing the doors tightly and locking them. Cunningham whistled a little as he got into the front seat and began driving.

This is for you, Louis; Cunningham thought sadly, this is all for you.

A lump grew in his throat as he thought about his poor older brother and Cunningham felt anger rise in his chest- he would avenge his brother, he would make all the monsters pay for what had happened to his Louis.

Cunningham smiled because he knew that his brother was looking down on his work and guiding him. He knew that Louis would have wanted him to do this; he knew this was the right thing to do, for his brother and for everyone those monsters had hurt.

SPN

Penelope Garcia had been having a nice weekend. Kyle had taken her on an old-fashioned dinner-and-movie date. They had gone to a fancy Italian restaurant and then gone back to her place and watched 'The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo'- the Swedish version of course- and spent the rest of the time talking long into the night.

She wished she could get more lovely weekends like that but as soon as she stepped inside the BAU building Garcia was ready to work.

Her lime green heels clattered down the tiled hallway as she practically ran to her office. As Garcia entered 'the bullpen' she saw that some of her co-workers were already there and she wished she hadn't slept in so late.

Garcia smiled down at Dr. Spencer Reid as he raised a hand in a wave and stopped mid-stride when SSA Aaron Hotchner stepped out of his own office, a file folder gripped tightly in his hands.

The veteran agent peered over the railing and spoke, "Conference room. Five minutes."

Oh no, Garcia thought, what now?

Although the technical analyst liked working for the BAU and with her team- they were more like her family than anything else- she hated hearing about the terrible things people did to one another.

Instead of going to her office as planned, Garcia headed immediately to the main conference room.

She sat down, facing the large computer screen along one wall and wondered whose face would be up there this time.

As Garcia sat and fidgeted with her bright green skirt, smoothing the shiny material down, she couldn't help but think about the recent revelation that their friend Emily Prentiss was still alive and now back a part of their team. Everyone had been quite shaken at finding out the truth and it was still causing some tension between the team- Garcia hoped that everything would calm down soon- and they'd be more like a family again.

"Hey, mama," Garcia smiled broadly as Derek Morgan walked in, Reid trailing behind him.

"Have a good weekend?" Reid asked and Garcia nodded.

"Spent some quality time with Kyle… he's been feeling neglected lately," Garcia answered and Morgan wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

Reid looked slightly confused but quickly shook it off.

Garcia greeted Jennifer Jareau as the blonde walked in with David Rossi and Emily Prentiss close behind her.

Everyone sat down and looked around, "where's Hotch? Thought he wanted us in here pronto."

There were shrugs all around in answer to Morgan's question.

Six pairs of eyes all focused on the doorway and nerves became taut as they waited for Hotchner to enter to room.

"Maybe one of us should go see what's keeping him?" Garcia wondered aloud and paused to push her green glasses farther up her nose.

Before anyone could move though, Hotchner slipped inside and closed the door. JJ stood up and helped hand out the half dozen file folders their team leader had brought with him.

"Early this morning a couple walking their dog stumbled upon a grave in the middle of a field in Brentwood, Washington," Hotchner began, his expression somber.

"So why are we involved?" Morgan asked before Hotchner had a chance to continue.

"The grave did not contain just one body but four," Hotchner answered and there was a collective sigh in the room.

Garcia's gaze turned to the computer screen as Hotchner held the remote out and the FBI crest was replaced by a photograph of a badly-dug hole in the ground, surrounded by long, green grasses. A decomposing body was partly visible through the dirt and Garcia suddenly felt nauseous.

"Baby girl, are you okay?" Morgan leaned forward and asked Garcia, seeing the tech's face pale.

She nodded, "Yeah."

"So local law enforcement is already involved?" Rossi spoke up.

"Yes, but they called us because they are not at all used to seeing this kind of thing," Hotch answered.

"More than one body in a grave means that the location must have meant something to the unsub," Reid spoke as though only to himself but there were nods all around.

"Have they identified any of the bodies yet?" Prentiss asked as the picture changed to show the grave, now empty and the surrounding grasses growing tall around it.

Hotch shook his head, "unfortunately no."

"Is that all the information we have so far?" JJ asked and Hotch nodded.

"We'll learn more once we arrive in Brentwood," Hotch said and folded his arms across his chest, "I expect all of you to be in the jet in a half hour."

As the rest filed out, Garcia paused to speak to Hotchner, "is there anything I can do right now, sir?"

"Just be ready when we call," Hotchner answered and left the room, leaving Garcia alone.

The technical analyst raised a hand to her eyes and rubbed at the bottom lids clandestinely. What a way to start off the week.

SPN

Dean woke when a ray of sunlight shone through the grimy window and hit him full in the face. He groaned and pulled his head into his sleeping bag.

"Sammy, turn off the light," he muttered and opened his eyes when he received no answer.

Dean poked his head out and looked across the room where his brother's sleeping bag sat, zipped up tightly and duffle bag atop it.

"Sam?" Dean asked and a sliver of fear went through him before he realized his brother had probably just woken before him and left to get coffee.

Dean stretched and unzipped his own sleeping bag- one of the two the boys had grabbed from Rufus' cabin- and stood up slowly. The muscles in his back protested at the movement.

There was something to be said about sleeping in a bed. Dean turned to his own duffle and pulled a clean pair of jeans and a long-sleeved grey shirt from it.

Once fully dressed, Dean grabbed his boots, pulled them on and stomped down the hall to the bathroom.

He was grateful that the house that he and his brother had chosen to squat in had running water, if no water heater.

The mirror was spotted and cracked, the bathtub and sink were rusted and coated in lime, and the floors were grimy but it would do. Dean wasn't about to complain. He'd rather stay in a shitty, condemned house than in a motel and blow their cover and find out that the Leviathans were on their trail again.

Dean brushed his teeth and combed his hair, anticipating his brother arriving with a cup full of hot, steaming coffee for him.

Dean grimaced as he thought about Sam. They'd fought the night before despite their best efforts to avoid an argument. Luckily it hadn't come to blows but Sam had walked out, telling Dean he needed to be alone for a while.

Dean couldn't even think of what they'd been fighting about in the first place.

Oh well, hopefully Sam had gotten over it too and had grabbed some breakfast along with the coffee, Dean was starving.

Stomping down the stairs into the empty front hallway, Dean paused to check his phone- it was just after five o'clock in the morning- and groaned.

It was far too early to be awake but Dean just shrugged and decided to sleep in the next day. Sam always got up at the crack of dawn and all the power to him but Dean liked to sleep in.

Dean paced from the living room and into the kitchen and back again as he waited.  
"C'mon Sammy," he muttered under his breath, "How long does it take you to get breakfast?"

After ten minutes of waiting, Dean paused and frowned: where the hell was his brother?

Fishing his phone from his pocket, Dean called his brother. The phone rang and rang and rang and went to voice mail.

Dean peered at the cell phone curiously. That was weird. Sam always had his phone by his side.

Dean decided he couldn't wait any longer and if he saw his brother along the way he'd pick him up. He grabbed the car keys from his pocket and stepped outside. The dark purple Camero was parked underneath a dying lilac bush even though the neighbourhood was deserted-all the houses in the cul-de-sac were either condemned or simply abandoned to the elements.

Slipping into the driver's seat, Dean cursed under his breath as he reversed the car out of the driveway and onto the road.

He drove slowly down the streets, keeping his eyes peeled for his brother, and occasionally checking him phone to see if Sam had texted him.

No dice. There was no sign of his brother anywhere and Dean was beginning to panic a little.

Dean pulled the ugly car into the parking lot of a small diner that was only a few blocks away from the street they were staying on and thought that maybe Sam would be there.

Dean stepped inside and looked around at the booths and table but didn't see Sam. Ever the hunter, though, Dean decided to take a seat and see if anyone had seen his brother. Maybe Sam was on his way back to the house that very minute.

A young waitress with long, light blond hair up in a ponytail wandered sleepily over to Dean with a cheerful 'can I help you, sir?'

Dean took in the woman's blue uniform and white apron, the lack of makeup on her face, the slight bags under her eyes and the gold nametag pinned to her lapel which read 'Susie'.

"Actually, I think maybe you could help me. I was supposed to meet a friend here for breakfast but I kind of slept in and I was wondering if you'd seen him. He's really tall, has longish hair, green eyes". Yeah, slept in, right. When anyone with a brain would be hitting the Snooze button 'til noon hour.

The waitress paused for a moment, one finger against her lips as she thought, "I do remember him- he came in here last night… was really quiet but kind of cute- but I haven't seen him this morning. Can I get you anything while you wait?"

Dean shook his head and gulped. Shit Sammy, where the fuck are you?

He rubbed his forehead with his fingers. So much for our vacation. So Sam had come here last night after storming out… but what had happened between the time he had left this place and now?

Dean looked around the diner as though Sam might pop up from one of the other booths or from behind the counter.

It had been a long time since Sam had walked away from a fight like he had last night- Dean recalled that habit being more pronounced when their father was still alive- but he certainly wasn't the type to just vanish. Sure Sam had run away in the past a few times, especially when he was younger, but he'd always appear chagrinned and hungry the next day.

Something must have happened to him, Dean decided, there's no other explanation.

Dear God what had happened to his brother?

He could list of the possibilities on one hand and none of them were good.

1\. Leviathans had somehow found them and had nabbed Sam.

Or…

2\. Sam had had another hallucination and was off gallivanting somewhere with Lucifer.

Neither option was good but Dean knew he could handle it if Sam was hallucinating again, well, handle it better than he could knowing that Dick Roman was holding his brother as bait for him.

Dean motioned to the waitress and she came forward eagerly, "have you decided to order?"

He shook his head, "you said you saw my friend last night, right?"

"Yes," Susie answered slowly.

"Did he seem nervous to you? Anxious? Was he fidgeting or sitting very still?"

The waitress's forehead creased, "he seemed normal. He wasn't acting weird if that's what you mean. Like I said before, he didn't say much but he was real polite when he did talk."

Dean held back an exasperated sigh, "was he fiddling with his hands, like this?"

Dean demonstrated pressing his right thumb into the palm of his left hand. It had not escaped him that Sam often pushed down on the scar on his palm when he was stressed or nervous or tired.

Susie shook her head.

Dean tried a different angle, "did he saw anything to you? Other than the obvious. Did he say something that was strange maybe? Confusing or out-of-the-blue?"

Again the waitress responded with a shake of her head.

Dean sighed, "Did he, uh, was he talking to himself at all or maybe to someone who wasn't there?"

"Why are you asking me all this? Is your friend crazy or something?" the waitress asked, with animosity and fear.

Dean's expression darkened. No one called Sammy crazy. He stood abruptly and pushed past the waitress- she was no help anyway- and made his way out of the diner.

As Dean sat down in the Camero's driver's seat, he suddenly had an idea.

Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, Dean dialed Frank Devereaux's number.

After nearly five minutes of convincing the man that he was in fact Dean Winchester and not a Leviathan spy, Frank gave Dean a minute to breathe.

"Can't be too careful," Frank said matter-of-factly.

"I don't think the Leviathans would call you ahead of time to see if you were home," Dean sighed.

"Huh, well, fair enough," Frank muttered, "now, what do you want?"

"Sammy's missing," Dean forced the words out and waited for a reaction. He didn't get one. If he'd been talking to Bobby, the old hunter would have called Dean an 'idjit' and then fretted in his grumpy, crass way about the youngest Winchester.

"What'd you expect me to do about that?" Frank said after a minute.

"I think Sam's phone has a GPS in it," Dean answered rudely, "I need you to triangulate the signal or whatever and find out where he is."

"If it's still on him," Frank muttered.

"What?" Dean snapped.

He heard Frank suck in a breath, "well, if your brother's been taken and isn't just out smelling the roses, than any smart criminal would destroy the phone."

Dean gritted his teeth, "Than let's hope Sam just got distracted by something shiny and will come home when I call."

"Okay, okay, no need to get snippy, Princess," Frank grumbled, "what's the number?"

Dean recited Sam's cell number, "I know you could care less about Sam but he is my brother and my responsibility and I will personally tear the limbs off anything or anyone who so much as looks at him in a way I don't like."

Frank whistled in appreciation, "this'll take a few minutes so microwave yourself some popcorn."

Dean didn't reply. He really wasn't in the mood to joke- an odd thing for him- and his heart pounded painfully in his chest at the thought of Sam being tormented by memories of Hell and hallucination Lucifer or trapped in Dick Roman's clutches.

"You still with me?" Frank's voice jolted Dean from his thoughts.

"Yeah, Frank," Dean muttered.

"Okay, well here the thing," Frank paused, "I can't pinpoint the location of the phone."

"What!" Dean shouted.

"I'll try again but I can't make any promises," Frank offered.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, "just find my brother."

SPN

Cunningham remembered the day Louis had gone to fight in the war. He remembered sitting on his brother's bed with his knobby knees splayed out before him and a wide grin on his face.

"Take me with you Louis, please," Cunningham had begged.

Louis had chuckled and ruffled Cunningham's hair, "I can't buddy. But I promise to bring you back something real cool when I get back."

"How long are you going to be gone?" Cunningham asked, watching as his older brother packed his green army-issued duffle bag.

"Just a few months- I should be home by the end of summer," Louis told him.

The end of summer, but that was so far away! Seven months away in fact!

Cunningham wished he could go to war with his brother. Louis had just turned eighteen and had volunteered to go over. Cunningham was far too young, too young to even lie about his age. He'd heard all the great stories on the television and from the other kids at school whose brothers were also fighting. It sounded like a big party to Cunningham and he wished he was eighteen so he could join in the fun too.

I hope the war lasts that long so I can go and help out Louis, Cunningham thought as his brother zipped up his duffle and slung it over his shoulder.

"Okay, kiddo, let's go," Louis put a hand on Cunningham's shoulder and led him into the hallway and down into the living room.

Mom and Pop were so proud of Louis, so proud. Cunningham was proud too. He was so lucky to have a brother like Louis.

His parents were going to drive his brother to the airport but Cunningham had to stay home.

"We won't be long," Pop said and they left, taking Louis with them.

Cunningham ran to the bay window in the living room and knelt on the built in bench seat. He pushed aside the lacy curtains his Mom insisted gave the house an 'English charm'- whatever that meant- and waved at his brother as the blue Sedan pulled out of the driveway.

W

Cunningham had been so excited the day Louis was scheduled to come home. Mom and Pop were excited too. Pop had strung up a big, bright WELCOME HOME banner across the front entrance way and Mom had made Louis's favourite meal for dinner.

Louis was coming home early. He'd been injured in battle, Cunningham's parents had told him and he wondered exactly how Louis had gotten hurt.

Maybe he'd lost a limb, which would be neat. Or maybe he had a bullet or shrapnel still stuck in him. Cunningham couldn't wait for Louis to tell him all about the war, how he'd gotten hurt in the name of protecting his country.

'Honorably discharged', said the paper Mom and Pop had been reading. Cunningham didn't really know what that meant but it sounded impressive.

Mom had dressed Cunningham in an itchy dark blue suit and black bow tie. He hated those clothes but he didn't complain because Mom said he had to look nice for when Louis came home. Mom had combed and greased down Cunningham's hair meticulously, rubbed dirt off his face with a white handkerchief and told him to stand up straighter.

Pop had gone to the airport to pick Louis up and the later it got the more anxious Cunningham grew.

Cunningham's heart flew up in his chest as the front door opened and he ran from the living room where he'd been watching TV to the entranceway.

Remembering what his Mom had told him, Cunningham stood up tall, hands behind his back and didn't make a sound.

Pop came through the door first, his expression one of happy bemusement. Cunningham watched as his Pop set down Louis's now dirty and slightly tattered duffle bag and pushed his horn-rimmed glasses further up his narrow nose.

Then Louis stepped inside!

Louis, wearing a white t-shirt and camouflage pants and big black boots.

Louis, whose hair had been shaved short and had a pair of dog-tags swinging from around his neck.

Louis who frowned as his eyes took in the front hallway, his mother and brother.

"Louie!" Cunningham couldn't hold it in any more and ran to his brother, wrapping his arms around his middle in a big hug.

Cunningham felt his brother stiffen under his touch and Louis pushed him away. Cunningham didn't care, he was just so happy to have his brother back.

"Did you bring me anything? Huh, did ya? Huh?" Cunningham pestered.

Louis didn't answer but walked past him as though he were invisible.

His brother didn't stop but stomped in his heavy army boots all the way up the stairs.

Cunningham followed Louis as his older brother made his way down the hall and into his bedroom.

"What was it like Louie?" Cunningham started to enter his brother's room but Louis slammed the door in his face.

Cunningham blinked, stunned.

Pop came upstairs and put a hand on his shoulder, Cunningham shrugged it off.

"Louis just got home; he doesn't need you bothering him. He just wants to relax right now," Pop said and Cunningham moped. He didn't go downstairs but sat against the railings across the hall from Louis's room, eyes glued to the door, willing it to open.

W

"Come wash up for dinner!" Mom's voice jolted Cunningham from his reverie. He stood and stretched. He crept to his brother's room and tapped on the door.

"Louie, Mom said dinner's ready," he whispered loudly and waited for an answer.

"Go away!" Louis shouted back and Cunningham retreated down the hall to the bathroom to wash his hands.

Cunningham sat in his usual seat at the table that was laid out with his brother's favourite foods.

Mom had spent all day cooking up the pork chops and green beans and biscuits and a yummy chocolate cake for dessert.

Pop and Mom both turned to the staircase, "Is Louis coming down?"

Cunningham shrugged, "I don't know," and reached for a biscuit.

Mom's hand shot out and slapped his wrist, "Not until we've said grace."

Cunningham grumbled but clasped his hands before him and ducked his head. While Pop recited the prayer he heard his brother's boots coming down the stairs.

Cunningham lifted his head and peered at his brother. Louis's face was blank, completely devoid of expression.

W

Louis had changed. Mom and Pop had said he was sick but when Cunningham asked about it they just shook their heads.

His brother wouldn't talk to him anymore. He'd spend hours alone in his room, smoking and drinking beers he'd stolen from Pop's stash in the fridge.

Cunningham had thought that Louis would be a great hero, eager to tell of his exploits but he said nothing, ignoring his younger brother.

As months passed Louis drank more and more. Cunningham knew that something was wrong- he could see it in the blankness of Louis's face, the burning of his eyes.

Then one night in late August the police came to the door.

"Are your folks home, son?" the tall one with the handlebar moustache had asked Cunningham. The short, bald officer said nothing.

Louis had left before dinner, saying he was going to be home late and now the police were at the house.

Mom thought that Louis had been hurt. Pop thought he'd been in a fight.

Cunningham listened in to the conversation his parents were having with the police- no one saw him- and found out about Louis.

The bald officer spoke after Mom offered both tea and shortbread cookies.

Louis had been driving home from a well-known bar downtown and had hit a little girl not much older than Cunningham was.

"Ran her down, more like," Handlebar Moustache said and Mom began to cry.

Louis was in trouble. Louis was going to jail.

"For a long time," Pop said sadly, explaining it to Cunningham after the police had left.

Cunningham didn't understand it- Louis had never hurt anybody- he was a great guy. It couldn't be Louis, it just couldn't be.

W

Cunningham stared down at his half-eaten grapefruit, realizing he'd been thinking too much about Louis again.

Monsters always did that to him. Once he caught one, it seemed all of Cunningham's memories of Louis resurfaced.

He picked up his spoon and scooped out the last segments of the fruit, chewing thoughtfully.

I wonder if the monster's awake yet, Cunningham wondered. He peered at the sunburst clock on the kitchen wall and saw that it was six forty-five.

He'd have to go to work anyway. Oh well, the monster could wait.

Putting his dirty dishes in the sink, Cunningham stretched and headed out of the small kitchen and into the front hallway.

It's gonna be a long day, Cunningham thought but smiled anyway. He wouldn't complain, really, he had taken another monster off the streets and he would make it pay, just as he'd made the others pay. This is for you, Louis, this is for you.


	2. Don't Look Down

Jennifer Jareau peered out the window of the jet and smiled. She didn't think she'd ever get tired of the sight of fluffy, white or streaks of pink clouds, the sun almost racing them it seemed as a bright orange disk and the brilliant blue of the sky.

She looked around at the other members of her team. Aaron Hotchner was talking quietly to Emily Prentiss. Morgan had his headphones over his ears, head bobbing slightly to whatever he was listening to while Reid sat across from him reading a book.

David Rossi was sitting beside JJ, having taken the aisle seat and he appeared to be asleep- eyes closed and hands folded on his belly.

Brentwood, Washington- their destination- was a very tiny, close-knit community, barely a speck on the map. The small size of the town wasn't to be underestimated though; the team had received the run-around from as many killers in blink-and-you'll-miss-them towns as in any major metropolis they'd been to.

JJ hated going into a case without knowing anything about it. That always worried her because more often than not, what seemed like routine would end up more complicated than they'd expected it to be.

That's the trick to this job, JJ thought, nothing is ever routine. She sighed and pulled her long blonde hair into a ponytail, coiling it around and releasing it at the base of her neck.

"Nervous?" Rossi's voice startled her slightly.

"Why would I be?" JJ asked. One of Rossi's dark brown eyes was open as though he planned on going back to sleep.

The older agent shifted farther up in his seat, "you're playing with your hair."

JJ nodded. She rarely touched her hair on the job- it'd be considered unprofessional- and wasn't surprised that Rossi had noticed.

"I just hate going in blind, you know?" JJ explained, "I like to know what we're going to be getting ourselves into."

Rossi chuckled a little, "we never really know what's waiting for us. I think it spices things up, to be honest."

JJ smiled. She shook her head a little and looked back out the window. She felt Rossi's warm palm on her hand and glanced back at him.

"Do you regret coming back?" he asked her more seriously now.

"You guys are my family as much as Will and Henry are. I just didn't feel comfortable at the Pentagon; you know… they're just all business over there and kind of cold. I liked the job, of course and the people but nothing could replace my team," JJ told Rossi and the older agent smiled.

Rossi nodded and his eyes slipped closed, he didn't remove his hand from JJ's though and she didn't mind.

W

The airport just outside of Brentwood was a tiny thing. It was in the middle of a field and JJ saw two small single-engine planes on the tarmac.

"We'll be meeting the Sheriff at the police station in town," Hotchner said as the team filed out of the jet.

JJ was silent on the way to the station. She was nervous and she didn't know why. Normally she was calm and collected during a case but now she felt particularly on edge.

JJ turned her attention to the scenery outside of the big black department-issue SUV she was sitting in with David Rossi as driver. She peered at the quaint shop fronts and mom n' pop restaurants and diners that made up downtown Brentwood.

The police station- the nexus of law and order in the small town- sat between a small greengrocers and a theatre showing the outdated film, 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers'.

Parking along the curb, the three black vehicles containing the team, earned half-curious half-nervous stares from the townsfolk.

JJ smoothed at her long blond hair before stepping out of the car.

"You look great," Rossi offered and JJ blushed.

As soon as the entire team was assembled and standing on the sidewalk, a police officer stepped outside to greet them. He was a young guy, maybe in his mid- to late twenties, JJ guessed, with short blond hair and eager blue eyes in a clean-shaven face.

"Deputy Akerman," he introduced himself and held a soft hand out to shake.

"I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner; these are SSA Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, David Rossi Jennifer Jareau and Dr. Spencer Reid," came the reply and the Deputy's eyes bugged out of his head.

"Sure is a lot of you," he muttered and smiled anxiously.

Hotchner nodded, "is the Sheriff ready to meet us?"

"Oh, oh yes," the Deputy started as though he had completely forgotten why they were there.

These murders must really have shaken everyone up, JJ thought as she followed the rest of the team inside. She felt bad for the young Deputy. This is probably the first time Brentwood's experienced such a gruesome crime.

JJ looked around at the interior of the station. She counted five officers, excluding the Deputy and the as-of-yet-unknown Sheriff.

Small force. Certainly this town only sees petty crimes.

Deputy Akerman knocked quietly on a grey door at the end of the room, "Sheriff, the team from Quantico is here."

The door opened to reveal a very short, thin woman with grey hair but hardly a crease on her youthful face.

"I'm Sheriff Vita Tuttle," the woman said in a surprisingly high, soft voice.

Once again Hotchner introduced all of them and the Sheriff moved from the doorway of her office, "it's far too small in there for all of us."

"Do you have anywhere we could set up?" Hotchner asked and the Sheriff peered around the station as if only now realizing that they needed somewhere to work.

"There's an empty room that's used mostly for storage," Sheriff Tuttle offered apologetically, "I can have some of my men move the boxes out of the way."

Hotchner smiled, "that would be wonderful."

JJ smiled lightly; it was always difficult to investigate cases in small towns because they lack resources the bigger cities seemed to have. It really was a shame that the team even had to come to small, close-knit communities like Brentwood in the first place. Serious crimes such as murder always shook these villages down to their foundations and created animosity, suspicion and hatred among the normally friendly residents.

Once the storage room had been cleared out and the boxes replaced with a card table (yes, a card table) and a dry-erase board, Hotchner got right down to business.

"David and Reid, I want you two at the dump site," he directed with his usually no-nonsense tone, "see if you can find out anything important there."

"JJ, I want you and Morgan to go to the coroner's and examine the bodies," JJ and Morgan nodded in tandem.

"Prentiss and I," Hotchner instructed, "will interview the couple who found the bodies."

Hotchner explained, "Call me if any of you find anything."

Everyone agreed and exited the station.

JJ slid into the passenger's seat as Morgan sat in his usual, driver's seat.

As the pair set off toward the morgue, Morgan shook his head.

"What?" JJ asked, looking curiously at the black agent.

"Never had a case with so little evidence," Morgan muttered.

"We've been called to investigate a lot less," JJ countered.

"Yeah, but, I mean the bodies… we don't know anything about them, don't know their gender or how long they've been in the ground," Morgan explained the reason for his frustration, "those bodies could be years old."

"Even if they are, we still need to find whoever killed those people," JJ reminded him.

"I know, JJ, I know," Morgan wiped a hand over his face, adjusted his dark-tinted sunglasses, "It just pisses me off, you know?"

JJ nodded, "I don't like it either."

The rest of the drive was silent. The morgue was a single-storey building, its grey concrete sides hidden almost completely by creeping ivy. The hospital beside it, although redbrick, was likewise obscured by the bright green plants.

Morgan took off his sunglasses and he and JJ walked into the morgue building. The interior was sterile and stark- grey tile floors, whitewashed walls and ceiling shining down fluorescent lights- and deathly quiet.

The two agents made their way over to a conservative wooden receptionist's desk and showed their badges.

"SSA Derek Morgan and SSA Jennifer Jareau," Morgan spoke and the receptionist nodded.

"You're here to see the bodies that were found this morning?" the elderly woman asked.

"Yes, Ma'am," JJ answered. The receptionist was indeed old, with a deeply wrinkled face and fluffy white hair that had thinned badly. She wore a floral blouse with padded shoulders and grey dress pants. Her feet were covered by black loafers.

"Just let me call up the coroner," she said and dialed a three-digit number into the phone at her desk.

Morgan leaned an elbow against the desk as they waited. He raised his eyebrows at JJ and she just gave him a look that said 'whatever happened to being professional?'

"The coroner will be with you in moment," the elderly receptionist told them, staring myopically at the agents.

"Thank you," JJ said and both she and Morgan turned to peer down the only hallway in the building- a long corridor with numerous doors on either side- to wait for said coroner.

Both agents looked up when they heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway.

A middle-aged man with a receding hairline appeared, white lab coat flapping behind him and tennis shoes squeaking on the floor.

"Agents?" the man held out a hand, "I'm Dr. Stone."

"We'd like to take a look at the bodies that were found this morning," JJ explained and she caught a look of horror flash in the doctor's eyes before it was replaced by professional indifference.

Dr. Stone motioned for the agents to follow and Morgan and JJ complied, the doctor leading them down the long hallway.

"As you can see we're a small town, an old one, but we haven't grown much… a lot of people move away, go to Seattle or Tacoma- the bigger cities, you know- I guess they find the small-town atmosphere stifling," the doctor rambled and the agents let him.

"Nothing like this has ever happened in Brentwood… it's just… why would someone do something like this?" the doctor asked, looking at Morgan and JJ in turn.

"That's why we're here- to find out why those people were killed and to stop it from happening again," JJ said and Morgan nodded in agreement.

"When we find out about the victims we'll have a clue as to who killed them and why," he added.

The doctor nodded as though unsure of the two agents and suddenly opened a heavy metal door at the end of the hall.

The morgue was chilly inside but not uncomfortably so. Both agents had been in many such places before so it coolness of the room didn't bother them.

Along one wall were steel refrigerated drawers which held most of the dead bodies. There were four stainless steel tables in the middle of the room which four white sheet-shrouded bodies on them. A desk piled high with papers of all kinds took up the rest of the available space.

"These are the ones found this morning," Dr. Stone gestured with one hand.

"May we?" JJ asked and the doctor nodded, walking over to the closest covered bodies and pulled the sheet down all the way.

The victim was a female, probably in her late twenties to early thirties. The first thing the agents noticed was that she had deep bruises all along her torso and lacerations on her arms and shoulders.

Morgan slipped on a pair of latex gloves and peered closely at the victim.

"She was starved- her stomach was completely empty when I examined her," Dr. Stone offered.

Morgan nodded and JJ stood back, arms over her chest, watching silently.

"What about sexual assault?" Morgan asked.

The doctor shook his head, "didn't find any evidence of it at all."

"Hmm," Morgan muttered.

JJ knew what he must be thinking because she was thinking the same thing: no sexual assault usually meant that the unsub was impotent. But usually, if that was the case, the victims were more often than not found stabbed to death, not strangled.

"Maybe he gets off on strangling them," Morgan suggested

"If that was the case with all the victims than I'd say you were right," Dr. Stone interrupted.

"What about the others, doctor?" JJ asked.

"She's the only female," the doctor pointed to the woman.

Both Morgan and JJ raised their eyebrows, "what?"

The doctor nodded and covered the woman back up. He pulled the sheets off the last three victims and indeed they were all male.

"Damn," Morgan breathed, "this just gets more and more complicated."

All the victims had been starved and tortured; all strangled to death.

Morgan ticked off the list on his hand, "There's no ligature marks on them though… Do you think that they were strangled by hand?"

JJ just shrugged.

"It's gotta be the same guy. Sure, they're not all the same gender but they were all found in the same grave," Morgan spoke aloud as he thought.

"Doctor, when do you place the time of death," JJ asked. None of the victims had displayed severe decomposition yet.

"A couple of weeks at the latest," the doctor said, "it's hard to tell. It appears that this young man was the first victim."

The doctor pointed to a victim who had long, stringy mousy brown hair, brown eyes and at least a couple of week's worth of beard growth.

"Have you identified any of the victims yet?" JJ asked.

The doctor shook his head, "no but I can tell you that none of them are native to Brentwood."

"Maybe there's a distinguishing mark on one of the victims that will tell us who he or she is," Morgan suggested.

The doctor's face brightened somewhat, "now that you mention it, the woman has a tattoo on her lower back."

W

Morgan called Hotchner and relayed all the information they had gathered from the coroner. He also sent the picture of the woman's 'tramp stamp' he taken with his cell phone to Garcia in hopes that she could match it with someone.

"I'll try my lovelies, but let me tell you, roses are more common than you think," the technician had warned them before signing out.

"Let's hope the others have found something useful," Morgan grumbled.

"At least we know who the unsub prefers," JJ said sarcastically.

"Yeah," Morgan consented, "how many people pass through here every day, do you think?"

JJ shook her head, "I can't even guess."

The two agents fell silent as they continued the drive back to the police station. Each hoping they'd be able to find the unsub quick, as it seemed he had little or no cooling off period if all the victims had been killed within the past couple of weeks.

Morgan's jaw was tight. It didn't matter that sexual assault had not been used as torture for any of the victims- no one should be starved and beaten- and dumped in some mass grave to decay like pieces of garbage.

Morgan's hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white.

JJ couldn't help but think of her old job at the Pentagon- at least there she didn't have to deal with serial killers- but the evil that men did to one another followed her anywhere she went. At least as a part of the BAU she felt more useful than sitting in a cubicle trying to determine what constituted an act of terrorism against the United States and who could be considered a terrorist.

No, now she was back to catching serial killers in small one-horse towns where everyone knew each other and no one was willing to talk, especially to the Feds.

Just another day at the office, JJ thought, and sighed before pulling her hair into a tight ponytail with a navy blue scrunchy

SPN

Damn it, damn it, damn it!

"I don't know what to tell you, Dean," Frank said apologetically, "I just can't get a solid location on Sam's phone."

"Well, what the fuck does that mean?" Dean snapped, "If you can't pinpoint where-"

"It means, Dean, that your brother's phone has been tampered with, broken," Frank snapped, unexpectedly.

"Shit Frank! What am I supposed to do?" Dean snapped right back. He had driven back to the house he and Sam had been squatting in while Frank had tried several times to locate his brother.

Now Dean paced around the empty living room- his boots leaving scuff marks on the dusty floor- as he pressed the phone to his ear painfully.

"We've got other things to worry about, Dean," Frank said, "the Leviathans-"

Dean practically growled, "I don't care if those fucking Leviathans are taking a road-trip right to my front door… I want my brother back so unless Dick Roman and his pals have something to do with Sam's kidnapping I don't want to hear another word about them from you. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah I get it," Frank muttered, "Sheesh."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, "Please, Frank, help me find my brother. Sam's the only thing I have left."

Dean didn't like baring his soul to anyone, much less a paranoid, fat-ass excuse for a hunter but he needed Frank's help.

"I'll keep tryin' Dean, alright," Frank acquiesced, "but I ain't promising you any miracles."

"Yeah, okay," Dean sighed, "thanks."

Dean still held onto the faint hope that his brother had just lost track of the time and would come through the front door with a sappy, apologetic look on his face and a bacon double cheeseburger in hand but Dean truly didn't think that was likely to happen.

SPN

"Can't see anything special about this place," Rossi commented as he and Reid stepped out of the black SUV and onto the roadside.

"The field's still a half hour walk from here," the young doctor commented.

Neither man was looking forward to the long journey to the dump-site. The officer the Sheriff had instructed to accompany the two agents was an older man with a bald head and a sandy-coloured moustache and heavy-lidded blue eyes.

"It's not a long walk," the officer said and headed off through the underbrush of a forested area beside the road- trails and deer paths cut through the woods, indicating it was used regularly by hikers and so wouldn't be too bad to walk through- unfortunately, neither Rossi or Reid had adequate footwear.

The two agents took of behind the officer, silently both thinking 'what had they gotten themselves into?'

The old agent and the young doctor trudged along after the officer but were aware of their surroundings- noticing every little detail of the forest- the sounds of the birds, how well-trod or not the paths were, and the lack of other people.

"Are these trails used very frequently?" Reid panted as he and Rossi followed the officer.

"Fairly so," the officer answered and wiped his forehead with a blue handkerchief.

"Do you know who usually comes out this way?" Rossi piped up. His salt-and-pepper hair stuck to his brow and his face was beginning to turn red with exertion, his expensive dress shoes were a lost cause- already covered in mud and his pants beginning to attract burrs and thistles.

The officer shrugged, "we don't really pay much attention to who comes and goes, if that's what you mean. These are open to the public and we get everyone from families out for walks with their kids and dogs to experienced hikers."

The two agents nodded. So anyone and everyone came out this way. That only made the profile more complicated. Hopefully they'd find something useful at the dump-site.

W

"Well, here it is," the officer stopped on the edge of the woods. Before them was a large field of long grasses that waved pleasantly in the early morning breeze.

Rossi peered around and thought that if not for the dump-site of a possible serial killer, the meadow would have been quite nice.

The grave was easy to locate- the grasses had been crushed by the many trampling feet the medical examiner and coroner, the police, the joggers who had found the bodies.

The grave itself wasn't very deep but it seemed well-crafted, there were signs of shovel marks in the soft earth.

"Those people were all kinda piled in there, like cordwood or somethin'" the officer offered and took a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his uniform shirt. He offered the agents a cigarette but both declined.

"Are there any photos of the grave as it was first found, before the bodies were removed?" Reid asked and the officer nodded.

"We took pictures, so did the coroner," he said and took a deep drag of the cigarette.

The young doctor's mind was working a mile a minute: the burial of a body usually meant that the unsub had remorse or felt guilty over what he or she had done… but dumping the victims in a communal grave like 'cordwood'- to use the officer's word- was at the complete opposite end of the spectrum.

Could be he just didn't want the bodies found, Reid reasoned.

He looked away from the grave and noted the vegetation in the field- tall sawgrass with patches of crabgrass, Queen Anne's lace and thistles- which was by all means relatively unremarkable and forgettable.

"Reid, come and look at this," Rossi was crouched down by the gravesite and was poking at something with the end of his pen.

"What is that?" Reid hunkered down beside the older agent and peered into the grave.

The young doctor felt slightly sick when he realized that Rossi had uncovered a human bone. The bone had been picked clean by scavengers and was a dirty brown colour.

"Is that a femur?" Reid gulped. There may be more bodies in that hole!

Rossi straightened, "Officer, we are going to need someone to come and dig deeper into the grave- it's possible that there are more bodies in it- and call the medical examiner and coroner while you're at it."

Rossi replaced his pen in his pocket, brushed his hands off and raised an eyebrow at Reid, "Looks like this case just got more interesting."

SPN

Dean decided that he shouldn't worry- or at least worry but also do something other than wearing a hole in the floor of the living room as Frank tried over and over to locate Sam- and try to figure out who or what had taken his brother.

Dean pulled the laptop out of Sam's duffle bag, grabbed his car keys and headed down the street to that little diner he'd visited earlier- where they had free Wi-Fi and breakfast was served until noon hour- killing two birds with one stone, effectively.

Dean reasoned he wouldn't be doing his brother any good if he neglected to eat and sat in that big, empty house wringing his hands instead of actively searching for him- or else searching for a clue as to where Sam could be.

He pulled into the parking lot and stepped out. Dean held the laptop under one arm as he pushed the door of the diner open and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that 'Susie' the waitress wasn't inside.

Shift must have been over; Dean thought gladly and moved to a booth at the back.

A different waitress came over and asked Dean if he wanted anything- she was middle-aged, with dark hair that had streaks of grey in it, large doe-like brown eyes with crow's feet at the corners and a wide, smiling mouth. Her nametag read 'Charlene'- and he only wanted coffee as he pondered over the menu.

Dean set the laptop on the table, booted it up and typed in the password.

He should look into the history of the town first- see if anyone had died violently or mysteriously, if there were no Native burial grounds nearby, etc.

Dean closed the laptop halfway as Charlene returned with his coffee, "ready to order yet?"

"Yeah, the special would be great," Dean gave the waitress a charming smile.

The waitress nodded, wrote the order on a pad of paper and wandered off to let the kitchen staff know.

After researching for ten minutes through electronic records for the town of Brentwood, Dean sighed in frustration. He wasn't great at the research thing- it had always been Sam's job- and he had come up with absolutely nothing.

Maybe I should go to the library; Dean mused and sipped at his coffee. He shuddered at the thought- Dean hated libraries: they were always dusty and dreary and boring. He hated all those stupid cards and codes for the Dewey Decimal system and he could never figure out how to work with the microfilm. The only times he dared set foot in such places were when he was in Sam's company because the nerd knew how to use all that crap.

"Ah Sammy, you picked a great town to disappear in," Dean sighed and looked up when Charlene brought his food over.

"Thanks, sweetheart," Dean said, closing the laptop and setting it aside.

"Enjoy," the waitress said and topped-up his coffee.

As Dean ate he kept his ears alert for any conversation he could eavesdrop on. If Dean knew anything about small towns, it was that the best information was not found in a stuffy old library but more often than not in the gossip of the residents.

The diner wasn't packed- the patrons that were there were probably regulars- but Dean didn't mind, that only made it easier to concentrate on a particular stream of conversation if and when he found one.

As Dean munched away at his breakfast his face scrunched in concentration- there was little gossip happening and he was becoming disconcerted- until a couple of older women entered the diner and took the booth in front of his.

"Did you hear that Faye's niece and her husband found a body just off that hiking trial?" the first woman whispered to her companion.

"No! Oh my gosh, how horrible!" the second woman exclaimed.

The two halted while a waitress took their order for tea and coffee respectively and then went back to their grisly topic.

Dean chewed slowly; alert for any evidence these two women could inadvertently provide him. Charlene appeared with coffeepot in hand and he motioned for her to fill up his cup without speaking.

"Mmhm, it was early this morning," Woman # 1 continued, "they're little terrier, Dixie, actually found it."

"Is the Sheriff investigating?" Woman # 2 asked.

There was a pause as the waitress brought the ladies their drinks, "of course she is! You didn't grow up here, Ruth, but nothing like this has ever happened in Brentwood!"

Dean gulped down his coffee and shoveled in the last forkful of food. He grabbed the laptop, slipped some bills onto the table and dashed out of the diner.

Looks like I'll be visiting the morgue after-hours tonight, Dean thought as he sat the computer in the passenger seat of the car and pulled out of the lot.

"I heard also, that the FBI has sent a team of agents to help find out who did this," Woman # 1 spoke softly after Dean had left.

"Hopefully they find the monster," Woman # 2- Ruth- said with apparent venom in her voice, "this is such a nice, friendly town."

"Yes," Woman # 1 agreed.

There was a pause, "do they know how the victim is?"

SPN

Sam jolted awake. His body jerked at the sudden arrival of consciousness. He opened his eyes and blinked- he couldn't see!

For a second his heart beat in panic- he was blind!

Slowly, the darkness lightened to a murky grey.

Sam shook his head, trying to clear it and when his vision did not improve he knew something was seriously wrong. He was sitting on a cold floor with his hands behind him. He tugged and felt the chill metal of chain binding his hands. More chains secured his legs at the ankles and were wrapped around his abdomen. He couldn't move!

Taking slow breaths to try and calm his pounding heart, Sam assessed his situation. He tried to wiggle his hands but they were pinned too tightly. He noticed he wasn't wearing his jacket anymore, or his boots. His cell phone and knife and lock-pick were gone as well- being hidden in the coat pockets.

Sam's head pounded with a headache as though someone had given it a few good whacks. He couldn't take very deep breaths because of the chain around his chest, couldn't get enough oxygen into his lungs to be comfortable.

"D'n?" Sam called out softly, hoping halfheartedly that his brother was there with him- wherever he was.

Silence was the only response.

Shit. Where am I? Where's Dean? How did I get here?

Sam remembered fighting with his brother- recalled the miniature shouting match before he had turned and walked away, deciding to go cool down before he did something rash.

What had they even been fighting about?

Sam's brow furrowed in concentration and then he remembered- he'd found news articles about Dick Roman in the laptop's search history after Dean had promised not to obsess over the bastard.

Ah, Dean. Sam wanted to get back at that Leviathan son of a bitch just as much as his brother did but he also had learned his lesson about being revenge-driven. He didn't want Dean to make a mistake that he wouldn't be able to take back.

He remembered wandering around for about a half an hour before stopping at a little diner he'd seen earlier that day as they drove into town. He thought about that guy who'd been watching him, trying to be covert about it too.

Sam almost smiled at the memory. The guy thought Sam didn't know he was being watched. Sam would have laughed out loud if he had been in the mood, if the guy hadn't creeped him out. Sam just didn't know who or what the guy was. Really, he could have been anything- take your pick: vampire, Leviathan, fellow hunter, average weirdo.

And now Sam was stuck, trapped and chained down, unable to move. It didn't take a genius to realize what had happened. The guy probably wasn't a guy but some creature thinking Sam would make a nice snack.

Sam tugged at his bonds and cried out in futile desperation that anyone would hear, "Hey! Hey, help! Dean! Help!"

Fuck, Sam thought furiously, how the hell do I get myself into these situations?

He tugged at the chains around his wrists, biting his lip as he struggled to make his hand as narrow as possible. Sam knew he wouldn't be able to slip his hand through on its own, he might even need to break his thumb- but if he could free one hand, the rest would be easy- but his bindings refused to loosen even a tiny bit. The chains were far too tight, pinching Sam's wrists and making his hands tingle unpleasantly.

The human survival instinct and the old Winchester stubbornness kicked in and although Sam knew it was futile, he continued to pull at his bonds, hoping to at least loosen them a little if nothing else.

Sam had no idea what kind of monster had captured him and Sam did not want to wait around to find out. He would be practically defenseless against it and there was no way in Hell he was going to make the creature's meal easy for it.

He peered around, still unsure of where he was. Sam could make out the dark shapes of what might have been boxes or pieces of furniture- he really couldn't be sure. He might be in a cellar or basement or even one of the storage units people rented out.

Sam ground his teeth.

C'mon, c'mon, he thought desperately as he tried to slip his hands through the cold chains.

"Fuck," Sam groaned, making no progress at all and only succeeding in rubbing his wrists raw.

Where are you Dean? I can't do this by myself! Sam tried to project his thoughts to his brother- knowing he was crazy in thinking such a thing would actually work- but trying to keep his spirits up and hoping Dean wasn't still asleep or pissed at him and not even aware he was missing.

SPN

Hotchner kept his expression serious yet tinged with sympathy as Sonya and Karl Freeman recapped the hike and discovery of the bodies.

Aaron Hotchner and Prentiss sat side by side, not quiet touching, on the Freemans' beige couch, ignoring the Jack Russell Terrier named Dixie, which growled at them from the carpet.

Sonya dabbed at her eyes with a Kleenex, "We didn't know what she was after at first. Dixie's always digging junk up when we go on walks… we thought she had found a dead animal- a squirrel or bird- but then we saw… the girl."

Prentiss leaned forward, "Did you know it was a girl at first?"

Karl shook his head, "We just saw the, uh, arm but then Sonya noticed the nail polish on the fingers," he paused to hug his wife tight to his side, "and then we called the Sheriff."

"Did you go near the body or try to touch it?" Hotchner asked.

Both Karl and Sonya shook their heads.

"I grabbed Dixie and we headed back to the road," Karl explained, "We didn't want to be near… the body, you know."

Hotchner nodded, "Did you happen to notice anything unusual on your walk this morning- in the forest or at the dump site?"

Sonya's smooth brow furrowed, "Dump site?"

"Where the body was left," Prentiss said softly.

Sonya shook her head, "We left pretty quickly, we just wanted to get Dixie away."

Hotchner spoke up, "Did you see anyone on your way to the field, anyone who might have looked suspicious?"

Karl frowned but said that they had met no one in the woods that day.

Hotchner stood abruptly as his phone rang in his pocket and he moved to the kitchen for some privacy as he answered. The veteran agent spoke little but gave an affirmative 'yes' to whomever was on the phone and re-entered the living room.

"Emily, we have to get back to the station, the others have some information for us."

"Is it about the body? Oh, I hope no one else is hurt," Sonya fretted and Dixie licked the woman's face, having jumped onto her mistress's lap when Hotchner stood.

Karl stood up, looking worried, "If we knew anything, agents, we'd tell you in a heartbeat."

Prentiss nodded, "We understand. Here's the number you can contact us by if you remember anything."

Sonya and Karl saw the two agents out. Prentiss sighed once she was in the SUV's passenger seat.

"I hope they have some good news," she muttered and Hotchner nodded.

SPN

Reid and Jennifer looked up from the dry-erase board the young doctor was scribbling on. Morgan and Rossi were sitting at the card-table, heads together, deep in conversation.

The other agents looked up expectantly when Hotchner and Prentiss walked in, followed by Sheriff Tuttle.

Vita closed the door after herself and the agents. It was cramped in the storage room but it was better than nothing.

"Okay team, what have you got," Hotchner prompted. He already knew about JJ and Morgan's find at the morgue but he was curious to hear what Reid and Rossi had discovered.

"There's more than just the four bodies found this morning," Reid said, "The others are older, skeletal remains now, but it's obvious the spot holds some sort of significance for the unsub."

"How many more?" Hotchner asked sharply, not out of anger for the doctor, but from worry.

"It's difficult to tell right now, Aaron," Rossi spoke up, "The remains are all jumbled up together, broken, or have pieces missing altogether."

Hotchner's eyebrows rose high up his forehead, "Just how long has this killer been active?"

It was a rhetorical question; no one knew the answer and so, everyone fell quiet for a moment.

Morgan was first to break the silence, "I hope we find this bastard and soon."

JJ nodded, "We don't know what pattern the unsub's killing in and that will take time to figure out."

Morgan stuck his chin out defiantly, "We'll find him. We always do."

The agent stood and paced for a moment before turning to Vita.

"Sheriff, I think we should warn people not to go traipsing around in those hiking woods, at least not until we know for sure there are no more bodies," Morgan asked of her.

Hotchner looked surprised, normally Morgan didn't take control like that, usually deferring to him.

This case is really troubling him, Hotchner thought. The senior agent didn't know why though, surely they had been on far more disturbing cases than this. Perhaps it is the lack of evidence, Hotchner reasoned.

"I'll let my men know right away to cordon off the entire area," Sheriff Tuttle assured them all.

"Thank you, Sheriff," Hotchner said and watched as the woman left the room.

"Anything else important we should share?" Rossi asked and there were negative answers all round.

"It's still early, Dave," Hotchner said, "We're still waiting on Garcia to identify the girl."

The team looked to Hotchner with a 'what do we do now?' expression on all their faces.

The Special Agent was dumbfounded. With no word from Garcia, they could not proceed, but ever the leader, Hotchner told his team to check into the local motel and take a break.

"We can regroup in a few hours and come back with fresh eyes," He told them and they all filed out, slightly relieved to be away from the case, if only for a little while, but also frustrated with the lack of evidence.

Every one of the agents couldn't help but pray that no other innocent person would go missing while they were at a stalemate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Martin Garrix song.


	3. Back In The Village

Cunningham whistled along with the song on the radio as he drove home at five o'clock. He had been eager to finish up early and head home but he didn't want to look suspicious so he'd stayed for his entire shift. He wasn't bothered though, the monster wasn't going anywhere.

Cunningham had heard a couple of the other fellows talking about a body or body parts that were found that very morning just outside of Brentwood, along that trail hikers frequented.

They couldn't have found the grave, could they? Cunningham wondered. He just shrugged his shoulders- the police would only find monsters- and he knew of other hiding places all around the town to bury the bodies.

Cunningham pulled into the driveway of his house and shut off the engine. He stepped out of the van and stretched.

His house was just beyond Brentwood town line, sprawling and old. It even had a large, detached two-car or hobby garage in the back which had been perfect for keeping the monsters.

The house itself was the same one he'd lived in all his life. The outside even looked the same, despite being in a state of disrepair and that the gardens had gone to seed; Cunningham would always think of the place as Mom and Pop's.

Instead of going inside for a shower, like he normally would do, Cunningham walked across the lawn and unhooked the padlock from the side door of the garage. There were two big double doors for cars but Cunningham rarely used those. He stepped inside and flipped the switch. Yellow light filtered down from the half dozen bare bulbs hanging from the roof. The cement floor was cleared of debris except for a workbench along the far wall. The monster was chained up in a corner- the farthest from the doorways- secured to a metal support beam (one of many) that made up the skeleton of the building.

The monster blinked in the sudden light as Cunningham walked forward, completely calm, he was desensitized to any of their tricks. Cunningham was deaf to their crying and screaming and begging and threats- he knew that they couldn't hurt him- and carried out his tasks with cool efficiency.

The monster tugged at the chains, not taking its eyes off Cunningham, and tensed warily.

"What are you?" The monster asked; its voice slightly rough around the edges.

Cunningham didn't answer. He watched the monster blink its green eyes and struggle again.

"You can't escape," Cunningham said softly, almost too quiet for anyone to hear but he knew that the monsters had excellent hearing.

"What the fuck do you want with me?" The monster demanded and slumped forward as though it had tired.

The monster's dark hair fell into its face, obscuring those green eyes and Cunningham could hear it breathing harshly.

Perhaps I've secured the chains too tightly, he mused.

Cunningham could see sweat had soaked through the monster's shirt and its hair stuck to its forehead with it.

"Where's my phone?" The monster asked; its voice more quiet now.

Cunningham walked over to the work bench and pulled out the cellular phone he'd found on the monster. Its coat and boots were strewn haphazardly underneath the bench.

"You mean this?" Cunningham asked and held up the broken phone.

He had stomped on its as soon as he'd discovered it, cracking the screen and mashing the keys- some of which were missing altogether- underneath his heel against the concrete floor.

Cunningham couldn't help but smile when he saw the monster gulp and hang its head- it knew it was done for.

He tossed the broken device onto the workbench and pondered the tools hanging on the walls from nails.

"What are you doing?" The monster spoke up fearfully.

Cunningham took a roofing hammer down and examined it- it had the standard blunt nose but with two forks that came to sharp points, one being longer than the other- acting as casually as if he was inspecting the implement for an upcoming construction project.

He turned around and faced the monster, the hammer swinging causally from his hands.

Cunningham was pleased with the reaction. The monster tensed up and its eyes grew wide with fear, "No, no, please don't."

Cunningham loved that sound, he loved it when the monsters thought he'd show them mercy, but why would he? The monsters were filthy, lying, murdering creatures that needed to be exterminated, eradicated from the face of the Earth and Cunningham was the only man for the job.

They all deserve to die for what happened to Louie, Cunningham thought fiercely, and approached the monster with measured steps, prolonging the creature's torment.

The green-eyed monster was tugging uselessly at the chains binding it, pulling its legs closer to its body, the chains around its ankles grating harshly along the concrete floor.

Cunningham chuckled; the monsters always thought that shrinking like that would save them. They were wrong.

He peered down at the monster as though trying to figure out just what to do. Cunningham scratched at his chin with the sharp prongs of the hammer, taunting the monster.

The monster swallowed thickly and Cunningham watched its eyes dart around the garage, searching for a way out.

The man closed the distance between himself and the monster and raised the hammer, blunt edge downward. The monster shrunk back as much as it could, unable to even lift its hands to fend off the attack.

The scream that followed made Cunningham smile. The monsters may be a lot of things but they still bled the same as any other animal.

W

Cunningham was in a good mood when he stepped inside the house. He flexed his hands, palms outward, cracking the knuckles.

He felt as though he'd accomplished something that day. Sure, work had been boring as hell, the usual shit but he was happy knowing that he'd captured yet another monster and that meant one less beast out there to hurt innocent people… like Louis.

Cunningham frowned and slipped his work boots off; he peered down at the scuffed tan leather and saw a small spot of blood. He picked up the boot, headed into the kitchen and quickly wiped the smudge of crimson liquid off with a dishcloth.

There, that's better; Cunningham appraised the boots as he set them in the hallway.

He turned to the kitchen and sat down at the table for a moment. He was starving.

Standing and stretching, Cunningham peered around and laid eyes on the clock on the wall. It was only five forty-seven in the evening.

He made his way over to the fridge and grabbed a TV dinner from the freezer, opened the box, ripped off the plastic cover and put it into the microwave.

When the beep sounded to signal that the food had cooked, Cunningham took his dinner out and sat it on the old wooden kitchen table.

Cunningham thought about Louis as he ate. He missed his brother.

Don't worry Louie, Cunningham thought as he cut his microwave turkey and stuffing, ignoring the green beans- a vegetable that he'd hated since childhood- I'll make them pay, I'll make them all pay for what they did to you.

SPN

Sam gritted his teeth against the pain and squeezed his eyes shut. His breathing came in short gasps- he couldn't seem to draw enough air into his lungs- and his head throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

Swallowing down bile, Sam forced back the urge to puke. Even with his eyes closed and holding as still as a statue, it felt like the world was spinning around him.

Blood had trickled warm and sticky down the side of Sam's face and neck and the feeling pushed him to near-panic.

This isn't real, this isn't really happening, Sam thought frantically; hoping and praying that when he opened his eyes again he wouldn't be surrounded by darkness. He wanted to be back with Dean in whatever skeevy motel they'd picked for the night, fighting over the TV remote control and eating cheap, greasy take-out dinners.

A low cry escaped Sam's lips as he forced his eyelids apart and saw only darkness.

Nothing had changed. Dean was nowhere to be seen. This was wrong, very wrong.

"Not real, not real, not real," Sam chanted as he pressed his eyes shut tight enough so that bright lights flashed behind the lids and his breathing hitched with terror.

Remember, a tiny voice in the back of Sam's mind demanded; remember where you were before!

Slowly Sam thought back to what he had been doing, where he'd been before he had woken up in this garage.

He remembered driving a car- not the Impala- and he remembered Dean had newspapers on his lap.

Sam recalled Dean suggesting they stop and he remembered the name of the small town: Brentwood.

Sam remembered the abandoned house Dean had found, the argument about Dick Roman and that he'd walked away so that they wouldn't come to blows.

With a deep breath Sam opened his eyes but his anxiety was in no way assuaged. He may not be where he'd feared, but the alternative wasn't much better. He was being held captive by a crazy man with a penchant for torturing people with hammers.

SPN

Cunningham watched a few hours of television, sitting in his old olive green chair with a beer in one hand and the remote in the other.

There was no local news station, Brentwood was too small for that, and the closest information came from Tacoma. Cunningham remembered being riveted to the screen during the reign of terror caused by the Green River Killer, thinking that the man was the worst of the worst, one of the dregs of society- Cunningham got rid of monsters while Green River killed women… innocent women like the girl Louis had killed-

Cunningham crushed the beer can in his hand, alcohol flowing down his wrist to drip onto the floor. He blinked at the TV screen and stood to grab a tea towel to mop up the mess he'd made.

As Cunningham sopped up the spill beside his chair he thought about the monster now tied up in his garage. He twisted a fist into the towel and threw it across the room. Cunningham stomped through the living room and kitchen into the tiny front hall.

He slipped on his work boots and made his way across the lawn toward the hulking structure of the garage. He unlocked the door and turned on the light, stepping inside.

The monster blinked at him, green eyes wide in shock at the sudden brightness. Cunningham could hear the creature growl threateningly at him. He could see blood had trailed down the side of its face and neck to stain its shirt.

Cunningham peered around at the available tools, wondering which he should use. Looking down at his clenched hands he paused and looked back at the monster.

Cunningham strode over to the monster and grabbed the front of its shirt, pulling it up as he pulled a fist back. The monster closed its eyes and cried out as Cunningham's hand connected with its jaw.

He let go of the monster's shirt but continued to hit the monster. Cunningham relished the feeling of his knuckles connecting with flesh and bone.

He stopped when the monster's head fell forward, the beast clearly unconscious. Cunningham paused to catch his breath, check his bruised knuckles and decided he could use a refreshing drive to town. Maybe he'd even stop for coffee at the diner.

Turning off the light and locking the garage door, Cunningham got into his van and headed to town. He had calmed down tremendously and even turned on the radio, whistling to the song that came on.

The roads were dark and deserted. No one was out at this hour; it wouldn't even be very busy in town.

Cunningham drove slowly, he was in no rush. He stared out the window, watching the few residents of Brentwood still out this late, pace to and fro down the sidewalks.

Wait! Cunningham hit the bakes- there; across the street was another monster! It was standing with an African American man and two women, one dark-headed, the other flaxen-haired.

Squinting, Cunningham took note of the monster's appearance. It was tall, not as tall as the one he'd just caught though, and kind of scrawny looking.

Cunningham was not fooled, monsters came in all shapes and sizes but they were all very strong, very dangerous.

A smile curved Cunningham's lips. Just like all the others, there were always more where the first came from.

A blaring horn jolted Cunningham from his reverie and he put the van in drive, his gaze flicking up to watch the monster in the rearview mirror as he drove to the diner.

The tiny restaurant was quiet as usual. Cunningham was a bit disappointed to see that Susie wasn't waitressing that night and in her stead there was a pimply-faced boy he'd never seen working there before.

Cunningham picked a booth and sat down, refusing to be depressed about Susie. It was a good night, he reminded himself, he had a monster and another one was close by.

Cunningham sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He looked up when a young man entered the diner. He was a stranger, Cunningham immediately saw that, and looked a little worse for wear.

He watched the young man walk over to the counter and slide onto one of the bar stools. He placed one fisted hand under his chin and stared despondently at the menu-board.

Cunningham took in the stranger's short-cropped light brown hair, his blue jeans and boots, dark brown leather jacket. Cunningham saw that the man's hazel eyes were slightly bloodshot and he had the beginnings of stubble on his lean face as he turned around to look over his shoulder.

Must be some drifter, Cunningham thought and turned to the pimply waiter who was approaching him with a pot of coffee.

While stirring milk into his drink, Cunningham noted that the young man had ordered a slice of rhubarb pie and coffee, not the best dinner in the world but who was Cunningham to judge?

Cunningham sniffed indifferently and took a sip of his coffee. He had better things to think about than some random transient passing through town.

W

The stranger left after two pieces of pie and three cups of coffee. Cunningham stayed until the diner closed, somewhat reluctant to return home.

He knew he should be out looking for that second monster but right now Cunningham was too tired and he needed to plan, anyways.

"Don't worry Louie, I'll get it," Cunningham spoke in a low tone as he walked down to his van.

"I'll get them all!" Cunningham fished his keys from his pocket and unlocked the driver's side door.

SPN

Sam opened his eyes slowly. He groaned with pain and spat blood. He felt as though someone had beaten him round the head with a cinderblock.

It was still dark and Sam didn't know if it was night or day.

Sam guessed it didn't really matter whether it was day or night, he just wished he could get away from the maniac who was holding him captive.

Sam peered around- not that there was much to see- if only to try and feel like he was doing something.

He worked his jaw, making sure it wasn't broken- despite being sore, it seemed alright- and could feel one of his eyes already swelling shut.

He lowered his head, gritting his teeth as he tried to slip his hands through the chains.

"God damn it!" Sam cursed loudly as the metal bit into his wrist, drawing warm blood.

Breathing heavily, Sam clenched his eyes shut and told himself that Dean was coming, that his brother was looking for him and would save him like he always did.

"Who am I kidding? Dean probably has no fucking idea where I am… I don't even have any fucking idea where I am!" Sam muttered and spat more blood out of his mouth from where his teeth had cut the inside of his lip.

Sam was pretty sure that whoever had kidnapped him wasn't one of their usual beasties. If it had been, he'd know by now.

Probably isn't even a leviathan, Sam thought, or Dick Roman and I would have had a nice long conversation already.

So the guy was an everyday crazy, like the Benders, Sam reasoned.

Great, Sam thought, why is it always me?

He froze when the sound of an engine approached. Sam didn't even dare to breathe. It didn't sound like the new car though, the one they'd been forced to use in lieu of the Impala. Sam's heartbeat began to speed up with anxiety- if it wasn't Dean than it must be the guy- and once again, despite the futility of it, began trying to slip out of the chains - coming back for him.

Teeth bared in a silent snarl, Sam would be ready for whatever the man was about to dish out. He was not just going to sit still and let the asshole beat the shit out of him without putting up a fight.

Sam heard the sound of a door unlocking and was momentarily blinded when the overhead lights came on.

Blinking furiously, Sam watched as the man stomped toward him, a smile curling his lips.

The man crouched down in front of Sam and grabbed his shirt, pulling him close. Sam could smell coffee and beer on the man's breath.

The man chuckled as though at some private joke, "I'll get all your little monster buddies, you'll see."

Sam's eyes widened in shock: the man thought he was a monster!

This changes things, Sam realized even as the man continued to speak.

"You filthy demons are all gonna get what you deserve! All of you!" the man snarled and pushed Sam back, releasing him.

Sam gulped, trying to calm his still-pounding heart.

"I- I'm not a monster," he whispered, hating that his voice came out as a stammering rasp.

The man raised an eyebrow skeptically, "Like I haven't heard that one before."

"I'm not a monster… I'm a hunter," Sam managed.

If the man knew about monsters than maybe he was a hunter who'd gone off the deep end. Maybe if Sam convinced him that he was human, the man would let him go. It was worth a try anyway.

The man snorted, "I know you hunt. Hunt innocent people like my brother. Your kind killed him! And now you'll all pay for what happened to him!"

Sam sat back, shocked at the man's sudden outburst.

"Please, I have a brother too. I know how you must feel but this isn't the answer. This won't bring your brother ba-" Sam was cut short when the man backhanded him.

Sam's head snapped back with the force of the blow, blood flew from his mouth and tears pricked in his eyes.

"Don't you ever talk to me about my Louie you filthy, disgusting creature! You don't get to talk about him!" the man snapped, eyeing Sam cruelly.

"M-my name is Sam W-Winchester," Sam continued, "I'm h-human like you."

Sam saw no recognition in the man's face. If the man was a hunter, surely the name Winchester would ring a bell.

"Shut up," the man said in a quiet voice.

"Let me go, please. I never hurt your brother- I don't even know who you are!" Sam pleaded and the man hit him again.

"I SAID SHUT UP!" the man shouted and grabbed Sam by the shirt once more, breathing heavily in the boy's face.

The close proximity sent Sam's already stressed body and mind into panic and he acted unconsciously to protect himself.

Sam didn't even listen to what the man was hissing at him as he drove his forehead into the man's face.

The man staggered back with a pained cry, hands at his nose. Blood leaked from between the man's fingers and Sam felt nauseous at the sight.

"Fugh!" the man swore and kicked at Sam.

The man glared daggers at the boy before shutting off the light and locking the door behind him, leaving his victim alone.

Sam's shoulders slumped and he breathed wetly, trying not to cry.

Blood trailed down Sam's brow and into his good eye from a cut he'd received breaking the man's nose.

Too much blood, Sam thought, there's too much blood.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think.

SPN

Cunningham could not fucking believe it. That monster broke his fucking nose!

He peered into the bathroom mirror as he carefully stopped the flow of blood with tiny wads of tissue.

Cunningham's nose was bruised and there was a cut on the bridge. His eyes looked like they were beginning to blacken as well.

He clenched his hands into fists. No monster had ever hurt him before, ever!

I have to be careful with that one, Cunningham realized, it's a lot more violent than the others were.

Cunningham almost laughed- he wasn't unused to challenges and maybe this was some kind of test- he thought of the way the monster had tried to convince him of its innocence, that it was human just like him- and knew that Louis would guide him in the right direction.

His brother had helped him see through the monster's tricks, like the ones before; Cunningham knew that no matter how much they begged and bargained, they were all monsters.

W

The next morning Cunningham frowned at his reflection in the window above the sink as he put his breakfast dishes in amongst the ever-growing pile of dirty cutlery and flatware. He looked like he had gone one-on-one against Mike Tyson and lost.

Cunningham gingerly touched his crooked, broken nose and winced. The damn thing had swollen and turned a rather ugly shade of purple.

To match my eyes, Cunningham thought humourlessly, as he examined the bruises.

There was no point in crying over spilt milk, Cunningham reasoned, using an adage of his mother's.

He was already late for work and as well as a being a laughingstock he'd hate to have his boss ream him.

Besides, Cunningham should be happy- he had one monster captive and another one on the waiting list.

W

"Hey! What'd you do to your nose?" Cunningham bristled momentarily at the sound of an immature voice calling out to him.

He forced himself to smile and chuckle, "Wouldn't you believe it; slipped in the damn shower last night."

The younger man guffawed and called him a 'clumsy old man'.

Cunningham shook his head as though the man had been teasing and went about his work, repeating the story of falling in the shower to anyone who asked.

He needed to get the other monster, Cunningham knew it, and he had to act quickly before it spooked or freed the other one.

Tonight, Cunningham told himself, I'll get it tonight.

He smiled at the thought.

The monster he already had was sure to stop its irritating puling and fighting when it saw Cunningham had another one. That usually shut them up.

Cunningham knew that the monster with green eyes wouldn't last much longer but at least it would survive long enough to show the new one what was in store for it.

He worked religiously throughout the day, as though it was his first day on the job, impressing his co-workers and even his boss.

W

Sliding into the driver's seat of his van, Cunningham could hardly wait for the sun to go down so he could hunt. His breathing quickened with excitement and he gripped the steering wheel tightly in anticipation.

Turning on the radio, Cunningham hummed in appreciation when Johnny Cash came on singing 'When the Man Comes Around".

Yes, tonight was going to be a very good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from an Iron Maiden song.


	4. Faint Resemblance

Dean smiled to himself as he slipped through the back door of the morgue. It had taken him seconds to unlock the door.

Of course, this is a small town, no need for heavy duty security; Dean thought, thanking the gods of locked doors and lock-picks.

The lights were dimmed for the night but Dean pulled out his trusty flashlight, shining it down the hallway.

"Hey Sammy, which way to the icebox?" Dean muttered, and sighed. He missed his brother, wished he was with him.

If Sam was here, I wouldn't even be doing this.

Dean walked confidently down the corridor, not the least bit concerned about getting caught.

The morgue was exactly like ones the Winchesters had been in before- they were pretty much all the same- and Dean had little trouble finding the cold-room.

The eldest Winchester opened one of the double doors and peered inside.

"Let's see what we're up against, Sammy," Dean spoke as though his brother was right behind him.

Closing the door softly, Dean swung the flashlight around, its beam catching the stainless steel tables that sat empty in the middle of the room and the freezers with small white placards identifying the earthly remains inside.

He stepped up to the drawers and peered at the names. Dean smiled when he came upon a 'Jane Doe' and pulled open the drawer.

W

Dean frowned. He had checked out Jane and the three John Does- common name, Dean thought with morbid humour- but other than being without identification there wasn't anything unusual about their deaths.

More serial killer than supernatural badass, Dean thought and rubbed his chin.

Turning, Dean spied a drawer marked only as 'remains' and took a peek inside.

Bones. Lots of bones, all mixed up and in various stages of decomposition were what greeted the eldest Winchester.

"What the hell is going on here?" Dean asked out loud, knowing he wouldn't receive a response.

But if it was a human killer and not a monster, well, that didn't really make much sense to Dean either because from what he could tell none of the victims had anything in common, physically at least. They all had different hair colours; they were different ages, different gender, body shapes, etc.

C'mon Dean, think! Just because Sammy's not here doesn't mean you're useless!

Sam! That was it! If Sam was a victim of this wackjob there could be a clue in it.

Dean frowned, brows knitting together. Sam seemed only have one thing that connected him with three of the four victims and that was gender.

What else was there about Sam that could be reflected in these people? Dean thought, desperately.

He was a sibling, he was a hunter, and he had experienced some pretty traumatic shit in his life.

No, no, no! Dean was missing something, he knew he was.

Looking around, Dean found a filing cabinet and rushed toward it. Picking the lock expertly he slid the top drawer open and fished through the yellow file folders until he found one with the day's date and a scribbled note that read "J. Doe (4)."

Bringing the folder over to the desk, Dean flipped through it until his eyes caught on something.

"They weren't born here," Dean muttered as he read, "they were all passing through. Just like Sam and me."

Heartbeat quickening Dean searched for more clues as to why his brother was taken but came up empty.

"Damn it!" he swore and shoved the papers back into the folder helter-skelter.

At least I know now who this asshole is taking, Dean reasoned, at least I have that.

But why Sammy? Why not me? How does he choose?

Realizing that he wasn't going to get any more information from the morgue, Dean sighed and let the doors to the cold-room swing shut behind him.

I'm gonna find ya, Sammy, just hang in there, Dean thought fiercely as he stomped down the street away from the morgue building, toward the car which he'd parked two blocks away so he wouldn't arouse suspicion.

As late as it was, Dean was sure he wouldn't be able to sleep, too worried about his brother. Dean had seen the wounds on the other victims and Dean's stomach turned to ice at the thought of Sam receiving the same treatment.

But there was nothing Dean could do about it until he had more information and that was exactly what he planned to get first thing the next morning. Perhaps one of Brentwood's permanent residents had seen something or knew someone who fit the 'serial killer' profile.

Time to strap on his FBI persona, Dean sighed heavily, knowing that civilians were usually very responsive to the flash of an official-looking badge and a somber suit.

As Dean drove back to the abandoned house he was squatting in he couldn't wait for dawn to come.

Dean made a mental note to kick his Sam's ass for going off alone when he found his brother.

SPN

Dr. Spencer Reid rubbed at his eyes and brushed his bangs from his eyes as he stood between Morgan and Prentiss in the tiny room Sheriff Tuttle had set up for them.

Hotch had called them all at six a.m. and ordered them down to the station ASAP. Now the Unit Chief had that look on his face that said something big was about to happen, the look he usually got when there was going to be a break in a case.

"Don't keep us in suspense, Hotch," Morgan interrupted the otherwise silent atmosphere.

"Penelope has something on one of the victims," Hotchner finally said and the team seemed to take a collective breath.

"I'm putting you on speaker-phone, Garcia," Hotchner announced and set his cell phone onto the card table.

Reid couldn't help but smile as the technical analyst's voice piped up from the phone, a little bit tinny but otherwise all Penelope.

"Hello my darlings," she said, "Let me tell you that it has not been a walk in the park trying to ID the victim only using a tattoo. I stayed up late searching and lo and behold my sleepless night has paid off."

"Who is she, Garcia?" Hotchner interrupted as the analyst took a breath.

"Her name is Melissa Wilson, she's twenty-five years old and a resident of Sandpoint, Idaho," Penelope told them.

"What was she doing here?" JJ asked out loud.

"She has a long list of offenses- possession of drugs, prostitution, loitering, etc. - so I think it's safe to assume that she was passing through Brentwood. Maybe on her way to Hollywood or LA?" Penelope explained.

Hotch looked thoughtful, "Definitely high-risk victims, probably people with no connections here."

"Penelope, Morgan and JJ will send you all the information they have on the three males found and see if you can't identify them," Hotch told the tech.

"Will do," Garcia answered, "Wish me luck."

Hotch collected his phone and turned to his team.

"Are we ready for a profile?" Morgan asked, "We don't even know why these people are falling victim to this sicko."

Reid thought Hotch looked torn, "I think we should see if anyone has reported any suspicious activity in the past month or so, maybe someone saw something."

Taking charge, Hotch told his team that he and Prentiss would stay at the station and talk to the Sheriff and look through the past reports of criminal activity. He instructed Rossi, Morgan, JJ and Reid to go and question civilians living close to the hiking path and find out if they knew anything.

W

As Reid got into the SUV with Morgan he thought that Hotchner was sending them on a wild goose chase, small towns like Brentwood were very close-knit and it was more likely that if anyone had seen anything, they'd be tightlipped about it.

"I wonder what Hotch's thinking," Reid mused to himself but Morgan must have heard because he turned his head to peer at him.

"What are you talking about?" Morgan asked then turned his gaze back to the road.

"I think Hotch is waiting for something to happen. We need more evidence, more information on these victims and the unsub," Reid explained and glanced out the window.

"So he's sending us out to waste time?" Morgan grumbled, more than a little annoyed.

"Hmm more like twiddling our thumbs," Reid tried to joke but Morgan just shot him a dirty look.

The young doctor looked at his team member quizzically but then brushed it off.

SPN

Dean had spent the morning going around to the residents, anyone who might have seen something. So far he only had one extremely chatty old woman who'd wanted to tell him about all her grandchildren to show for his efforts. No one had seen anything or else no one wanted to say anything.

He sighed and yawned, scratching the back of his head as he stepped out onto the lawn of Nettie Stonebridge's house.

"If I'd wanted to know about all your grandkids I would have asked, you old bag," Dean grumbled under his breath.

Dean was just about to head back to the car when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket.

Please be Sam, please be Sam; he thought, knowing that his brother wasn't about to call him but hoping anyway.

"Yeah?" Dean asked when he saw it was Frank calling.

"I think I may have found something," the veteran hunter said.

Taking a deep breath, Dean spoke, "This had better be good."

"So's I was checking out your brother's last position from the number you gave me and I can pinpoint it…. I think," Devereaux commented, sounding slightly unsure of himself.

"And? What've you got Frank?" Dean pressed.

"The last GPS shows Sam was about six or seven miles outside of Brentwood to the southwest before it cut off," Frank said, "I dunno if that helps you… I mean, if someone kidnapped him, maybe they realized he had a phone and destroyed it there-"

"No Frank, I know Sammy's still here," Dean interrupted, "He has to be."

"Okay, if that's what you think," Frank said in a skeptical voice.

"What's outside of Brentwood?" Dean asked. His gaze swept the roadway and narrowed his eyes when he saw a pair of black SUV's coming down the road in his direction.

"Nothing much… mostly woods and a few old houses-" Frank was interrupted when one of the SUVs picked up speed and came barreling toward Dean, seemingly heedless of the rules of the road.

"Shit!" Dean swore and snapped his phone shut.

The first SUV ground to a halt on the boulevard and the driver jumped out. Dean just had time to register the handgun being pointed at him by an African American man wearing dark-tinted sunglasses and shouting at him to get down on the ground before all hell broke loose.

The second SUV parked right behind the first and a salt-and-pepper haired man and a blond woman stepped out, both wearing expressions of shock on their faces.

"Did you hear what I said? GET DOWN ON THE GROUND NOW!" The first man shouted and Dean turned to him.

Oh God, what have I gotten myself into now? Dean wondered and raised his hands to show he was unarmed.

Now three sets of guns were being pointed at Dean, three deadly expressions staring him in the face, three people who looking like they wanted to ask him when he had crawled from the grave to start hanging out in Washington State.

"I will shoot you!" the man said, "If you don't get down, now!"

Dean realized he had no choice but comply if he didn't want to have his face rearranged by a bullet.

"Okay, okay," Dean dropped to his knees, hands still held out- fist clenching his cell phone- but refused to take his eyes off the three people holding weapons.

The man who'd been shouting at him rushed over, pulled out handcuffs and cinched them tightly around Dean's wrists.

SPN

Agent Derek Morgan stared at the man sitting across the table from him. The man had not said a single word on the drive back to the station and had remained silent as they had brought him in, to the quizzical looks and questions of Sheriff Tuttle and her boys.

The agent stood, trying to intimidate and glowered, gritting his teeth together, crossing his arms over his chest. He was very much aware of his Glock pressing against his hip.

The man who looked like Dean Winchester didn't necessarily look frightened or nervous but he didn't look too confident either. He had not asked for a lawyer and that is what concerned Morgan most of all- if someone knew they were in trouble, the first words out of their lips was a request for a legal representative but the man's silence did not end.

Good, Morgan thought, at least he knows he's in hot water.

He leaned against the table- hands palm down on the cool metal- and spoke very slowly, trying to hold his anger inside because he knew Hotchner and Rossi were watching.

"Care to explain what the hell is going on?"

The man continued to look forward and didn't answer.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue? I'd have thought you'd wanna tell everyone why you're walking and talking."

Still the man did not reply. Morgan's jaw clenched and he shoved himself away from the table.

"Oh c'mon!" Morgan snapped and the man did not react- he shook his head slowly, a sad smile on his face.

Now we're getting somewhere, Morgan thought with grim satisfaction.

When the man looked at him, Morgan saw a grim expression.

"I did not kill those people. My brother did not kill those people. I'm not gonna waste my breath or time trying to explain it to you. We're on the same side here, man- not enemies- and the longer we're in here arguing whether I'm guilty or not, the longer it'll take to save my brother," the man said in a monologue.

"So you're telling me you have an identical twin brother who set you up?" Morgan asked in a cocky tone, not allowing himself to be drawn into the fucker's game.

Muted anger flashed in the man's hazel eyes, "Look, we don't have time to sit here with our thumbs up our asses-"

"Don't try and tell me anything you sick son of a bitch!" Morgan shouted and the interrogation room door opened- Hotchner beckoned him out into the hall.

Morgan slammed the door after himself, "What?"

Hotchner raised an eyebrow, "Morgan, look at him."

Grudgingly the agent turned and peered at the man claiming to be Dean Winchester through the two-way mirror.

"Yeah? So?" Morgan snapped.

Rossi spoke up, "Look at him, Morgan, really look. Calm down, take a deep breath and use fresh eyes."

Morgan ran a hand over his face, sighing and peered at Hotchner. He knew the Unit Chief would not let him back into the interrogation room until he'd cooled his shit a bit.

Morgan sighed once more and peered through the mirror at the man, using his training as a profiler to see the man anew.

The team knew about the Winchesters, knew about the killing spree they'd gone on before getting themselves killed, heck, they'd even sat in a briefing room and watched the bank's security footage and that video off the that poor kid's phone from the diner. They'd seen firsthand just how arrogant the two of them had been, completely unconcerned at showing their faces, letting everyone know exactly who they were.

Morgan remembered standing there, watching the videos play as his grip on the back of his chair tightened ever so slowly. How he wished he could be the one to take those two motherfuckers down but it wasn't there case and damn if it hadn't pissed Morgan off to no end.

The only satisfaction Morgan got came when the news came that the Winchesters had been killed during their arrest after trying to escape. Oh well, let God sort them out; Morgan thought.

And yet now here was Dean Winchesters, or else his twin brother, back from the dead.

Something was very fishy about this. Morgan was sure he'd heard the name Winchester before but he just couldn't think of where.

Okay, okay, Derek, do what Hotch and Rossi want or you're never going to get to talk to the guy.

As Morgan watched, Dean Winchester rubbed at his face with a hand- the other cuffed behind him to the back of the chair- and then through his short-cropped hair.

He looked tired, exhausted, really; and his bloodshot eyes were tight with stress. He frowned, looking like the saddest person to ever enter an interrogation room.

Morgan took note of the slump to the man's shoulders, how there didn't seem to be a single shred of confidence in the man. Somehow even the black suit he wore seemed sad.

No, Morgan realized, whatever the hell was going on, whoever the hell this man was or wasn't, the agent knew he was not the man who'd killed all those people.

It made sense of course; Morgan had never seen a couple of killers so cocky, so arrogant and unconcerned about apprehension as the Winchesters. They had done everything in their spree murders but carry around signs that read 'We're Sam and Dean Winchester and we're killers!'

"You see now?" Rossi asked and Morgan nodded.

"I'd still like to know what's going on," Hotchner commented and all three men entered the interrogation room.

Dean Winchester looked up as the three men entered. His expression turned wary and Morgan wondered why.

Hotch spoke up in an authoritative voice, "Dean Winchester?"

The question was answered with a nod.

"I'm Senior Supervisor Special Agent Aaron Hotchner with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI," Hotch introduced himself by his full title.

Dean Winchester leaned back in his chair and whistled appreciatively, "Wow, try saying that five times fast."

Hotch didn't miss a beat though, "This is Senior Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi and you've already met SSA Derek Morgan."

Again Dean Winchester nodded.

"My team and I do not believe that you killed anybody but… we are curious to know who would frame you and why," Hotchner continued.

Morgan raised an eyebrow when Dean chuckled.

"No, you aren't and no you don't," he answered as all traces of humor left his face.

"What?" Morgan asked. He didn't like people who spoke in riddles- understanding Reid was hard enough most of the time without him jabbering like the damn Riddler or something.

"Look, I know you'd all really like to know who killed those people if it wasn't me and my brother but trust me when I say this: You don't want to know," Dean Winchester spoke as though what he was conveying to them was of the utmost importance.

"Maybe we could help-" Rossi began but Dean Winchester shook his head.

"You can't help, not with this," he commented matter-of-factly.

Morgan growled. He'd had enough of all this cloak and dagger shit.

"Is there something we should know about you?" he demanded.

Dean Winchester paused for a moment as though thinking, his hazel eyes took on a distant expression and then he shook his head again, "Only that we are not the bad guys here."

Morgan gave Hotch a pointed look and crossed his arms. There was something about Winchester that put him on edge.

"Where is your brother?" Rossi asked in a concerned voice.

Dean looked surprised the agent had even asked.

"That's what I'd like to know too," he muttered.

"You mean he's missing?" Morgan asked and Dean's hazel eyes blazed with momentary anger.

"Do you see him sitting handcuffed to a damn chair alongside me?" he snapped.

"Hey!" Morgan snarled at the man's outburst but Hotch put up a hand to stop him.

"When was the last time you saw your brother?" he asked and Morgan backed down.

Hotch thinks the guy must be missing then, Morgan realized, to be asking questions like that.

Dean Winchester wiped his free hand down my face, "Can you get these off me? If I'm not arrested, that is?"

He spoke as though it was a sort of challenge and Morgan bristled before he saw the haggard look on Winchester's face.

Morgan took out the key and unlocked the handcuffs. Dean Winchester sighed and ran both hands through his hair for a moment.

"His name's Sam," Winchester began and Hotch and Rossi nodded.

"When is the last time you remember seeing Sam?" Dave asked again.

"Two days ago now," Dean Winchester answered.

Rossi sat down across from the man; trying to make him more comfortable, Morgan assumed.

"Around what time would you say?" the veteran agent asked.

"Morgan, tell the others we may be here a while," Hotchner whispered to him and Derek nodded, leaving the two older agents to question the man he'd previously thought was a remorseless, cold-blooded killer.

SPN

Dean didn't know how much he should be telling the agents. Normally he wouldn't be so worried but he had no idea how far into the FBI the Leviathans had penetrated. At first he'd thought he'd been caught by some of Dick Roman's goons but he realized if that was so they would have shipped him out to their leader or eaten him already.

Still Dean wasn't about to trust them just yet but maybe they could be helpful, maybe he could use them to find Sammy.

Dean wasn't sure he liked Derek Morgan that much; the guy seemed like a real hothead and he had immediately rubbed Dean the wrong way.

"Two nights ago, Sam went out… for a walk I think and didn't come back," Dean answered David Rossi's question.

"Around what time would that have been?" Aaron Hotchner asked and Dean held back a sigh of exasperation.

It was all well and good for him to ask victims all the when's and where's and how's but when it was his turn, Dean hated it.

"It was late; I know that because I fell asleep," Dean answered truthfully, "Maybe one thirty or a little earlier."

Hotch looked at Rossi and the bearded agent spoke again.

"Do you think your brother was kidnapped or just ran away?"

Dean's brow furrowed. What kind of question was that?

Guess they have to ask, he decided.

"All Sammy's stuff was still there when I woke up. If he'd been planning on leaving I'd assume he'd want his clothes," he stated in a slightly annoyed voice.

Dean had not ruled out the chance that Sam had had another hallucination and was now lost somewhere in the woods surrounding the town.

The agents nodded, "Why did you come to Brentwood in the first place?"

Speak the truth, Dean thought, "We were just passing through."

Both agents raised their eyebrows at his answer.

Dean hid a smile.

"I know about the bodies in the morgue," he said and watched as the agents eyebrows climbed even higher up their foreheads.

"I think that whoever killed all those people may have taken Sammy," he blurted out before the agents could speak.

"What makes you think that?" Agent Hotchner asked.

"I read the coroner's reports and saw that none of the victims were from here," Dean answered in a slightly smug voice.

Now the two agents were eyeing him curiously.

SPN

"Hotchner doesn't think he's the one?" Prentiss asked Morgan for the fifth time in a row.

Emily watched, stunned, as Derek shook his head.

"I know it sounds crazy, I mean, he looks like the guy from the footage but something is different about him, ya know?" Morgan said and Prentiss just shook her head.

"Besides, his brother's missing and whoever they are… we have to find him," Morgan continued.

Prentiss was still skeptical.

"You know, he could be a really good actor," she suggested.

Morgan shook his head, "That's what I thought at first but… look, you'll understand when you meet the guy."

"Meet him!" Prentiss started. Yes, she had encountered more than her fair share of psychopaths but something about the Winchesters scared the living daylights out of her.

"Hotch and Rossi are talking to him right now," Morgan told her, "I think they're gonna let him go."

Prentiss shook her head. She wanted JJ and Reid to get back from their coffee-run. They really needed to hear this.

SPN

"No way!" Dean exclaimed.

"You are not an FBI agent," Hotchner tried again.

"He's my brother! I have to find him! I have to do this!" Dean tried to make the agents understand that he wasn't about to sit on the sidelines like a good little witness and wait for Sam to be rescued.

"It's not our decision," Rossi tried to mediate, "It's the Bureau-"

Dean shook his head, "I'm coming with you. I have to see Sammy. There's no discussing this."

Dean refrained from saying what he really wanted to. He wanted to say that wherever Sam was, the first thing he saw shouldn't be strangers; that would only make things worse.

"Dean, we understand that you want to help but we either do things by the rules or I will handcuff you to this chair and leave you here for the rest of the investigation," Hotchner threatened and Dean held his tongue. The Unit Chief looked like a man of his word.

"Just as long as your rules don't get my brother killed," he muttered mutinously.

Rossi took pity on the young man, "Trust us, Dean, we've had a lot of experience in this sort of thing and I swear I will personally see to it that your brother comes out of this alive and well."

Dean nodded. The man's words didn't mean much to him though. He always saved Sammy, he was always the one who was there when his brother was hurting and it didn't feel right for him to let the BAU team do his job.

Not that Dean would do as the agents demanded. He didn't care if it got him arrested but he refused to sit out of this, not when his brother was in trouble.

Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner can kiss my ass, Dean thought, but nobody comes between me and Sammy. Nobody.

W

Twenty minutes later Dean was being introduced to the rest of the team. He couldn't help but smile at the dark-haired woman introduced as SSA Emily Prentiss. At first he had eyes only for the small blonde- SSA Jennifer Jareau- until he'd spied the engagement band around her finger.

No! Jesus Christ, Dean, what are you doing? The eldest Winchester scolded, disgusted with himself.

There is no fucking way you can be chasing skirt while Sammy's out there somewhere, hurt or… dead. Get a fucking grip!

Dean shook his head a little as if to clear his thoughts. It had been so long since he'd just relaxed with a pretty girl that he had forgotten exactly why there were a half-dozen FBI agents surrounding him.

"This is Dr. Spencer Reid," Rossi said and Dean couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of the tall, scrawny young man wearing a pair of beige pants, a light blue dress shirt and a brown sweater vest. A pair of black and red sneakers finished the ensemble, looking completely out of place with the rest of the young man's clothes.

The young man held out his hand for Dean to shake.

"How'd you get a doctorate? Beat some old family sawbones up?" Dean asked jokingly.

"Actually it's not MD but PhDs, I have several of them in Mathematics, Chemistry and Engineering and I have BAs in-" Reid began but Dean held up his hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay, I get it," Dean chuckled, "Doctor with a PhD."

The gathered agents chuckled a little, the women still a little bit uneasy around Dean.

The hunter didn't take it personally, he knew who… what he looked like.

Or else what looks like me, Dean cursed in his head, thinking about those damn Leviathans who'd pretended to be him and Sammy.

Dean cleared his throat; enough socializing, time to work.

"Agent Hotchner, can I talk to you for a moment," he caught the older man's eye and the agent nodded, following Dean to the side.

"What is it?" Hotchner asked.

Dean was aware that the rest of the team was watching them, "I think I have an idea of where the guy is."

Dean saw the agent's eyebrows rise in surprise.

Taking a breath, Dean continued, "There are some houses just outside of town. I haven't looked at them myself but a friend of mine said that my brother's GPS in his phone died just outside of this town, somewhere to the southwest."

Dean couldn't read the expression on the agent's face.

"Please, I have experience in this sort of thing," Dean hated that it sounded like he was begging, "I saw what that asshole did to those other people and I can't let that happen to Sam."

Not after everything that's happened to him, Dean finished silently.

"Thank you for telling me, Dean," Hotchner said after a pause, "We will definitely take that information into account."

The younger man's mouth opened in shock.

"No, you have to go out there and find him! You said you'd find my brother so get your butt into one of your SUVs and start knocking down doors!" Dean exclaimed. He noticed that their audience had stopped talking amongst themselves and were silently listening in to the conversation.

"Dean, we need warrants, a profile, backup-" The Unit Chief began but was interrupted.

"Fuck your warrants! I want my brother back alive! And at the rate you're going, the next time I see Sam he'll be laying cold on a stainless steel table!" Dean argued, anger rising in his chest.

Dean shook off the hand Agent Rossi placed on his shoulder, "I don't know how you people manage to save anyone when you do everything by the book, following procedure!"

"Actually, we usually have a working profile formulated which-" Dr. Reid began but Dean wasn't listening.

"Than tell me what kind of sicko kidnaps people passing through his hometown, tortures them and then kills them? Huh?" Dean barked.

"You want a profile? Then I think we may be ready to give one," Hotchner's tone revealed his annoyance but Dean didn't back down.

The rest of the team crowded around, talking all at once about the victims and bouncing ideas of one another.

"It's most likely a male; a woman wouldn't have the strength to hold an adult down and strangle them," Agent Morgan spoke first, looking apologetically at Agents Prentiss and Jareau.

"He's probably older than middle-aged, a long-time resident of the town to be so familiar with its layout," Dr. Reid broke in.

"But how does he capture his victims… and why?" Agent Prentiss asked, her dark brown eyes going to Dean as though he would have the answer.

"Maybe he lures them in somehow? Since the victims were all transient maybe he offered food or drugs?" Rossi asked. They still only had information on the female victim but they were learning more and more about her as Garcia uncovered the young woman's life.

Dean frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. A vertical line appeared between his hazel eyes as he listened to the team.

Six pairs of eyes turned to Dean in tandem.

"I think your brother is the key to solving this case," Hotchner spoke directly to Dean.

The eldest Winchester took a deep breath; reminding himself that the agents were focusing on the four previous victims and Sam did not fit into the same category.

"Sammy's a big guy- he'd have to be taken by surprise," Dean said.

"He wouldn't go with anyone? He wouldn't have been led-" Agent Jareau began but Dean shook his head.

"No way; Sam wouldn't have gone anywhere with anyone willingly," Dean insisted.

"Would you agree that whoever this guy is, he'd have to be strong?" Hotchner asked and Dean nodded. If Sam was attacked he'd easily take out a regular person out, likely with one well-placed blow to incapacitate the attacker.

"I wonder how he manages to subdue his victims," Dr. Reid muttered, "It could be possible that he changed his usual method of capture when it came to your brother."

Dean didn't know what to say; the only think he could think of was that Sam's kidnapper must have used a blitz attack but how he'd to get Sam from point A to point B was a mystery.

"I talked to one of the waitresses from the diner; she said she had seen Sam the night he went missing so the guy had to have made his move near the restaurant because Sammy never made it home," Dean said, hoping it would be helpful.

"He has to have a vehicle of some kind," Rossi said and the rest of the team nodded, "probably something bigger than a regular car."

"We still don't know why he chooses the specific victims though," Prentiss broke in.

"Maybe he feels like he's cleaning up the town, you know, getting rid of those he sees as befouling it," Reid suggested.

"But that doesn't make sense! Sam isn't some drifter!' Dean argued.

"Perhaps the killer thought he was," Agent Jareau suggested as gently as possible.

Dean held back an angry retort. He knew the agents were just brainstorming.

Hotchner looked about ready to call the little meeting to an end, "Are we all in agreement then?"

"Older male, probably late thirties to early fifties, longtime resident, possibly drives a van and has a distinct sense of morality, probably very opinionated about the town's wellbeing," Morgan listed off the main points.

Hotchner nodded, "It's not perfect but it should narrow down the pool of suspects."

Dean didn't add anything. He didn't really care who the bastard was as long as they found Sammy.

"Let's go tell the Sheriff and her men," Hotchner announced and his team followed him into the main area of the station.

Dean remained where he was, feeling out of place and useless. He hated all the red tape the Feds had to go through before they could start searching for someone. He thought his method of 'shoot first, ask questions later' was far more effective.

Clenching his hands into fists, Dean promised his brother that he'd find him, with or without Hotchner and his team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Rise Against song.


	5. Anywhere But Here

Dean sighed as he peered into the rearview mirror of his car and saw the bulk of the black SUV still following close behind.

It was late in the evening and Agent Hotchner had told his team and Dean that they should get some rest- hopefully the real work would begin tomorrow- and had Agent Morgan escort the eldest Winchester to where he'd left his car.

Now Dean suspected that the Unit Chief wanted to keep an eye on him, a sort of 'don't leave town' kind of thing and really couldn't blame the guy.

I'd send an agent to watch over a possible lying, mass-murdering psychopath too; Dean thought glumly; Hell, I'd send twenty agents.

He pulled into the crumbly driveway of the abandoned house he's been squatting in and gets out of the car, one hand pausing on its roof. Dean wished he had his baby instead of this piece of shit car, but for once he's thankful for the change; the car may not be the Impala but at least it keep prying eyes away. Every agent in Quantico probably knows exactly what the Impala looks like by now.

Dean watched as Morgan steps down from his SUV and raise an eyebrow.

"I know it's not the Hilton but its good for when you want to stay under the radar," Dean can't help but smile a little.

"Under whose radar?" Morgan asked Dean as the hunter steps around back and opens the back door.

Dean watched the agent look around the empty living room and kitchen, "Make yourself at home."

"What were you doing here?" Agent Morgan asked. He spoke lightly, almost conversationally but Dean knew he was watching him and measuring him.

Dean sighed, "My brother and I have been through some pretty tough shit in the past months," Huh, try the past few years; Dean thought and continued, "and all we were looking for was somewhere to relax a little bit, take a breather, you know."

Morgan nodded and Dean was almost sure the agent believes him.

He should believe me, it's true.

"And the next thing I know, Sammy's disappeared like a fart in the wind," Dean ended humourlessly.

There's that good old Winchester luck for ya; Dean thought glumly, knowing he should have kept a better eye on his brother, knowing he should never have let Sam walk out that door and into the waiting arms of a psycho.

Both men slipped into their own thoughts- Dean's preoccupied with Sam and Morgan musing over the current case- before the eldest Winchester moved over to where his sleeping bag was and sat down on it.

Morgan watched as Dean rummaged around in a blue cooler before pulling out too bottles of beer.

He offered one to the agent, who after a moment's hesitation took the offered beverage.

"Do you have any siblings, Agent Morgan?" Dean asked after taking a healthy swallow of beer.

Morgan nodded, "Two sisters… they practically raised me… them and my Mom."

Dean cocked an eyebrow, "No father in the picture?"

The agent took a draught of beer and frowned, "He died when I was a kid… he was just a regular guy… got shot in while trying to stop a robbery, trying to save people."

Dean slipped into silence again, thinking. Morgan didn't mind, he was too busy watching the other man, analyzing his facial expression, posture.

"What about you?" Morgan asks, mostly just to get Winchester talking.

Dean didn't answer for a number of minutes, his mind working to figure out how much he was willing to tell the agent.

The eldest Winchester decided to go with the truth (mostly) even if ended up getting him and his brother a punch in the face or a straight-jacket.

"I practically raised Sam since he was a baby- since he was six months old- after our Mom died and our Dad was hardly ever home. Our Dad died a few years ago and now Sam's all I've got… He's all I've got," Dean said; his voice thick with emotion he didn't know he'd dredged up.

Dean's tone seemed to have worked because Morgan nodded his head and looked at him with something like sympathy.

"Can I ask you something, Agent Morgan?" Dean asked and set his beer bottle down, his expression turning serious.

"Yeah," Morgan mimicked Dean's movement and his drink was momentarily forgotten.

"You said you have a couple of sisters? Well, is there anything you wouldn't do for them? Any length you wouldn't go to if it meant saving them from the bad guys?" Dean asked. At first he hadn't liked the agent, the guy had rubbed him the wrong way with his intense attitude but Dean was beginning to see that he and Derek were similar in so many ways.

Morgan paused. Like Dean he wasn't keen on talking too much about family, he wasn't a sappy kind of guy but Winchester's expression conveyed a grim need-to-know and Morgan remembered that the man's brother was not just missing as though he'd run off but had been kidnapped and was currently being held captive by the same unsub responsible for the bodies that were now sitting in the Brentwood morgue.

Morgan agreed with Dean. If anybody threatened his family, he'd be the first to take the son of a bitch down.

Dean gave a ghost of a smile. Agent Hotchner may be a by-the-book man but Dean knew that if push came to shove, he'd have an ally in Agent Derek Morgan.

SPN

Sam didn't lift his head but clearly heard the sound of the man's van as it pulled close to the garage. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing but his heart betrayed him, pounding with fear, sending adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Sam wondered if the man was coming to hurt him again. Sam wondered if Lucifer-

No! This is real! Sam's been kidnapped by some psycho, this has nothing to do with the Devil… but sometimes Sam wondered if this isn't one of the fallen angel's more ingenious torture methods.

"Dean," the name is barely whispered but that one-syllable word holds so much within it. For Sam, his brother's name represents everything he loves; someone who raised him from an infant, someone who always protected with him and stood with him, a brother who is never going to find him…

Sam heard the man's footsteps but they were different somehow, they were not the quick, excited meter they usually are. No, now they shuffle and Sam thinks he can also make out the sound of something large being dragged.

A bright light flashed on and Sam let out a small cry but the man didn't seem to notice. He continued to pull along whatever he was carrying, grunting slightly under the object's weight.

Cautiously, Sam opens his eyes against the harsh glow and sees his captor struggling with another young man.

He is tall, though not as tall as Sam himself, with brown curly hair.

The man turned to Sam, "I thought I'd bring you some company."

Sam hated the man's smile; patronizing and cold, it reminded Sam of Lucifer's.

The man continued to talk; Sam wasn't really listening. He left lightheaded from lack of food and water.

I wonder how long I've been here for; he pondered blandly; I wonder how long it will take for me to die of dehydration and starvation.

The man had not given Sam anything to eat or drink since he'd been locked up in this garage and Sam had given up the idea of being embarrassed about the fact that he had no place to 'do his business'.

Ha, do my business; Sam giggled out loud and the man peered over his shoulder at him, makes me sound like I'm a dog!

"It's always the same with you monsters, always following one another," the man spoke as if Sam really cared what he had to say.

"I'll probably have a third one in a few more days," the man continued proudly as he wrapped thick chains around his newest victim's wrists, securing him to a support beam on the opposite end of the room.

"I'll probably be gone in a few more days," Sam said in a falsely jovial voice.

The man stopped what he was doing and turned to look at him, frowning.

"You're not going anywhere," he huffed but Sam just laughed.

Sam could see that the sound of his fake merriment was annoying the man, saw how his shoulders tensed up and his motions became short and jerking.

"Stop laughing at me," the man muttered as he wrapped chains around the unconscious newer victim's chest.

But Sam couldn't stop laughing. It was just so funny. Even though Sam had no real reason to be laughing.

The man stopped what he was doing, peered at the tools along the wall and grabbed one without looking at it.

"STOP LAUGHING AT ME!" the man shouted and brandished the tool.

Sam's laughter died in his throat as he felt the sting of the weapon on his exposed shoulder. Blood quickly seeped through the wound to run hotly down his arm. Sam clamped his mouth and eyes shut, struggling to stay calm as the memory of a hundred knives cutting mercilessly into his flesh flashed through his mind.

W

All Sam could hear was the sound of the other man's breathing in the darkness. He tried to concentrate on that, determined not to let his thoughts wander.

He didn't know how long ago their captor had left but Sam hoped that he would never come back. Sam hoped that he would take a heart attack and drop dead in the street somewhere. At least that would mean the man wouldn't come back and hurt him anymore.

Sam heard the other captive's breathing hitch and held his own breath as he waited for him to wake up.

"Nooo," Sam heard the man moan quietly.

Sam didn't move, didn't speak. He just waited.

"Uh… no," The man groaned again and Sam's heart began to pound in his chest.

Sam listened as the man's breathing quickened.

"No, please, no," the man seemed to be waking up somewhat, his words becoming more and more clear, annunciated.

No, Sam thought, no. Please don't do this. His fellow captive's words triggered something inside of Sam, some thinly veiled memory that unfurled at the sound of the young man's half-conscious cries.

This isn't real, this can't be real, I know what's real, this isn't real, THIS ISN'T REAL!

But the pain told him it was real.

But Dean wasn't here to tell Sam it was all in his head.

"Don' wan' it," the man slurred, "Please… please, I…. don' wan'…"

"Shut up," Sam muttered to the other.

"No… don' make me… don' want it," the man continued, "Please… leave me 'lone."

Sam closed his eyes against the darkness and tried to drown out the man's words by humming Metallica like Dean did when he was nervous or scared.

W

Eventually the other man stopped muttering and Sam wasn't sure if he was unconscious or just asleep.

Sam breathed as deeply as he could manage with the chains around his chest. His mouth was as dry as cotton balls, his tongue felt like sandpaper; it hurt to swallow.

His stomach had long since given up trying to tell him he needed food and had decided to go numb instead.

His legs were cramped from the way Sam sat, keeping them close to his body in case his captor decided to go Annie Wilkes on him.

Sam looked up as the other captive let out a moan.

Please don't start again, Sam begged silently.

The other captive let out a gasp and cried out; Sam could hear the chains rubbing together, a harsh metallic sound in the quiet room.

"No! No! I don't want it! I don't want it!" The man cried out and Sam cringed, wishing he could cover his ears.

"Please, please don't… don't…" the man's watery voice was filled with fear.

Sam's head swam. He had to get away; he had to drown out that sound! He couldn't take it anymore.

"No," Sam whispered through cracked lips, "Don't hurt him. Please, please; don't hurt him anymore."

Sam's breathing hitched as the other man began to cry.

No, this wasn't right. Something was wrong. This was the real world. The really real world and Sam's brother couldn't be here because Sam was Topside again. Death had gotten him out, he'd escaped. He was free.

"Wake up!" Sam suddenly snapped at the captive across from him.

The man didn't seem to notice Sam, he just continued to cry weakly, "Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

The other man grunted and moved slightly, Sam could hear the sound of cloth scraping against the cement floor of the garage.

"W-Where am I?" A meek voice asked.

"I don't know," Sam rasped as loudly as he could.

"Are you Sam Winchester?" the voice wanted to know.

Sam didn't answer right away. He didn't know if he should tell the truth.

Suddenly Sam thought of the saying about truth seeing a person free. He grinned wryly for a moment before answering, "Yes."

SPN

It was eight in the morning but for once Dean didn't mind the early hour. He sipped from his paper cup of coffee and greeted the FBI agents as they entered the tiny room they were using as their command center during their stay in Brentwood.

Dean smiled particularly at the dark-haired Emily Prentiss and thought that when Sam was back safe he could give the agent his phone number (only for emergencies, of course) and if they were ever near Quantico again…

The eldest Winchester saw Morgan staring at him, a small smile tugging at the other man's lips, "You watch yourself around her."

Dean raised an eyebrow, "She's a wild one, is she?"

Morgan chuckled, "You have no idea."

The mood turned more subdued when the Unit Chief entered the room.

"What's on the agenda for today, Captain?" Dean asked, "Twiddling our thumbs or chasing wild geese?"

Dean didn't even react when Agent Hotchner sent him a withering glare.

"We have a profile ready and the local police and townspeople all know of it, they will be searching for anyone who fits the description," Hotchner said, his gaze serious.

"So what do we do? Man the phones?" Dean asked, setting his coffee aside and crossing his arms.

"My team and I will interview anyone who comes forward and you," The Unit Chief pointed a finger at Dean's face, "Will not interfere."

Dean didn't reply, he sat down in an empty chair and tried not to look like he was pouting. He really was pissed. He should be out there too, looking for his brother but the Agent didn't take 'Sam needs me' for an answer.

"Alright, Morgan I want you and Reid-" Hotchner began but then paused.

"Where is Reid?" the Unit Chief looked at the other members of his team.

"Probably running late again," Emily smiled.

"He may be a genius but he has no concept of time," Jennifer Jareau added.

"I'll call him up," Morgan already had his phone out before Hotchner could say otherwise.

They all waited patiently as Morgan held his cell up to his ear. He frowned, brows furrowing.

"He's not answering;" He said aloud, "His phone's been turned off."

"That's not like Reid," Agent Rossi said in a worried tone.

Jennifer's hands leaped to her mouth, "Oh my God, you don't think he's been kidnapped?"

"Shit," Morgan swore and Dean gave him an 'I told you so' look.

"Did anyone see Reid before they left last night," Hotchner asked, taking quick control of the situation.

"He told me he wanted to look at the case for a little longer," Prentiss spoke up, "I told him not to be too late and then I left."

"It's not your fault, Emily," Jennifer comforted the other woman.

"Were any of the Sheriff's men still here when you left?" Hotchner asked and Prentiss nodded after a short hesitation.

Dean watched Aaron Hotchner stalk out of the room and was instantly reminded of his father. The Unit Chief's intensity and serious persona was almost the same as John Winchester's whenever he was on a hunt.

Dean gulped down the last of his coffee. He felt terrible that the young doctor had been kidnapped. He may not be a profiler himself, but Dean saw how the BAU team functioned like a family and Dean could sympathize completely with the agents.

Everyone looked back to the Unit Chief as Hotchner stepped inside, "Sheriff Tuttle said that one of her men, a Warren Hadley, was the last to see Reid before he left shortly after midnight last night."

Morgan spoke up, "Do you think the unsub was just trolling the streets and got lucky or was he watching Reid?"

"None of the victims are actually from here, right? So this fucker couldn't have just stumbled upon your doctor by some happy accident. He probably saw him before and waited for the perfect moment to grab him," Dean spoke and his words were met by reluctant nods of agreement.

"Like what happened with Sam," Dean added in a quieter tone.

"Okay, here's how this is going to work," Hotchner regain control, "Morgan, Rossi and Dean are going to go and talk to any witnesses we find."

"JJ, Prentiss, and myself will stay here and see if we can narrow down the list of suspects," Hotchner finished.

Dean sat up a little straighter; had the FBI agent with the stick up his ass just called on him to help out with the investigation?

The Unit Chief turned to Dean, "You know your brother better than anyone and we could always use another person."

Dean nodded and stood, walking out of the police station a little dazed as he followed behind Rossi and Morgan.

SPN

"I'm with the FBI," Reid spoke, "We got called here because a body was found and foul play was suspected."

"Body?" The doctor heard Sam Winchester ask.

"We're not the first victims this unsub has caught," Reid explained.

"Oh," Sam Winchester sounded like he was drifting.

"Are you alright? Are you feeling dizzy or lightheaded?" Reid asked, calculating how long the young man must have been here. It was going on three days now, if it even was daytime.

"Sam? Sam!" Reid snapped, trying to get his attention.

There was no response.

"Hey! Hey, help! We need help! Hello! Can anybody hear me?" Reid shouted as loud as he could, hoping he wasn't about to attract their captor.

W

Reid stopped shouting when he heard a car pull up. He held his breath, waiting for something to happen but when nothing did he relaxed, somewhat.

"Sam? Sam, can you hear me?" Reid called to the Winchester.

"Sam! He's back," Reid thought that the other young man should know that their kidnapper had returned.

Reid froze when he heard Sam speak, "D-don't w-worry. I won't l-let him h-hurt y-y-you."

"No, don't do anything," the young doctor advised, "Just stay quiet."

Sam spoke again, his voice no longer trembling, "I'll keep you safe… I'll protect you…. Adam."

Reid blinked in the darkness. Who was Adam? And why did he need protecting? Who did he need to be protected from?

He's delirious, Reid realized, severe dehydration causes delirium.

Reid flinched when a bright light came on and squinted at Sam. The young man was covered in blood; his shirt was now mostly the dark brown of dried blood with small patches of its original dark green peeking through.

Their captor walked calmly into the room and peered at Reid for a moment before turning to Sam. Reid noticed that his chin lay on his chest, his eyes obscured by his longish hair.

"Sir, please, we need water," Reid spoke softly and hoped this would work; he needed the man to see them as people, "Please, Sam needs water. If he doesn't drink something soon he'll die, you don't want him to die, do you?"

The man ignored Reid's pleas, "Sam has an older brother named Dean. Dean's very worried about his brother. You can do the right thing and bring Sam back to Dean, you won't get in trouble, I promise you."

"You monsters are pathetic," the man muttered, "I'm not stupid you know. That's not going to work on me. You killed my Louie… why should I give him back to his family?"

The man pointed at Sam and stepped toward the semi-conscious man.

"Sam! Sam!" Reid called out and fought against the chains as their kidnapped grabbed Sam's hair and pulled his head up.

Reid couldn't see the man's expression but cringed when he spat in Sam's face.

"There's your water," the man said cruelly and dropped Sam's head back down.

The man turned around to Reid and the agent was surprised to see the man's nose and eyes darkened by bruising.

"We're not monsters, we're people, just like you," Reid tried as the man advanced on him.

"My name is Spencer. Spencer Reid," he continued, speaking more quickly as the man eyed the array of tools along the wall.

The man picked a crowbar up and hefted it.

"Please, p-please d-don't do th-this," Reid couldn't keep the tremble from his voice as the man swung down with the weapon.

A feral cry escaped the young doctor's lips as the iron crowbar made contact with his arm.

SPN

Rossi wanted nothing more than to find Spencer and Dean's younger brother. God knew what was happening to those boys right now- nothing good if the bodies at the morgue were anything to go by- and cursed Aaron for his strict approach.

Rossi knew he shouldn't be too hard on his friend, it was most likely that Aaron too, wanted nothing more than to knock down all the doors in Brentwood, search every attic and basement, arrest everyone who gave them an odd look and just bring Reid home.

The three of them had already been out for an hour and so far they had no success whatsoever. No one was willing to come forward with any information.

Figures, Rossi thought, small town, small minds. People didn't want to believe that one of their own could be capable of such heinous crimes and so they all turned a blind eye.

At first Rossi had been leery about letting Dean Winchester in on the interviews but Morgan had told him he knew what he was doing… and as it turned out, Winchester did know what he was doing. He might not be the greatest interviewer but he was better than some Joe Blow off the side of the road.

Rossi smiled, thinking about the other agents changing attitude toward a supposed mass murdering psycho.

Rossi knew Winchester was innocent, though. The more he saw of the man the more he realized that no way in hell could this be the same person who had gunned down all those innocent people in that bank and that diner.

Rossi was glad that Dean Winchester was on their side.

The old agent raised an eyebrow as the young man, "Son of a bitch! This is getting us Jack Shit!"

"We'll find something," Rossi assured him.

"I don't understand how you guys can be so calm," Dean muttered, "With one of your own out there."

Morgan's phone rang and he put it on speaker, "What've you got?"

Emily's voice filled the car, "A Mr. Hector Stowe thinks he may know who the unsub is… he sounded pretty certain on the phone."

"What's the address?" Rossi asked from the backseat.

"Seventeen Sapwood Crescent," Emily answered and hung up.

Morgan typed the address into the SUV's built-in GPS and Rossi saw Dean grip the dashboard tightly.

W

"Thanks so much for coming," Mr. Stowe gestured the agents and Dean into his home.

"Thank you," Rossi said, "Any information you can give us would be of great use."

The middle-aged man grinned. He had thinning blond hair and blue eyes. He had a bit of a paunch to his stomach that was easily seen through his Simpson's t-shirt.

The man had cut-off jean shorts that showed off white legs.

"Can I get you anything? A cold one?" Hector asked and all three men shook their heads.

"You said that you might know who the unsub is?" Rossi interrupted before the man could continue with the pleasantries.

"Oh, yeah," the man frowned.

The three men followed him into the living room and stood while he took a seat on his couch.

"Okay, well, there's this guy I work with, he's gotta be in his fifties or sixties," Hector began, "I'm pretty sure he's been working at the dump since it first opened."

"Anyway, Ted- that's his name, Ted… Theodore- Cunningham drives this big white van around and it's always given me the creeps, you know like 'Stranger Danger' kind of thing…" Hector's train of thought drifted.

"Has Mr. Cunningham been acting odd lately? Is he missing shifts at work or leaving early?" Morgan asked.

Hector shook his head, "No, not really, but there was this one day… he comes to work with a broken nose and two black eyes, looks like someone punched him in the face. Ted said it was an accident and I didn't think anything of it."

Rossi saw Dean straighten up from the corner of his eye. The expression on Winchester's voice told the agent Ted's busted up nose was no accident.

"Excuse me for a moment," Morgan said and stood; Rossi knew he was going to call Hotchner and probably Garcia to get more information on Theodore Cunningham.

"Is there anything else you can think of, Mr. Stowe that could help us?" Dean asked; Rossi could almost hear the desperation in the younger man's voice.

"Theodore lives alone," Hector said thoughtfully, "A few miles out of town… he's had the house since his parents died."

SPN

Garcia's blue-painted fingernails flashed over the keyboard- her azure eyes tracked a million searches a minute.

Her phone rang and she put it on speaker phone immediately, "Ask and you shall receive."

"Hey Baby-Girl," Morgan's warm voice made her smile, "Found anything on Theodore Cunningham yet?"

"Oh have I?" Garcia said, "I'm just not sure he's our guy, he doesn't have any priors-"

"Start at the beginning, Peaches," Morgan told her.

"Okay, Theodore Erwin Cunningham; born July 1st 1960; had an older brother Louis Bernard Cunningham who fought in the Vietnam War," Garcia began and Morgan allowed her to speak.

"It's Louis Cunningham who had a brush with the law," Garcia continued, "Oh my God… Louis was arrested six months after returning from Vietnam for a hit and run where he killed a twelve year old girl."

Hotchner's stern voice startled Garcia, "What happened to his brother?"

"Nothing at the time, Louis went to a state penitentiary and got out on good behavior after eight years," Garcia commented.

"Okay, when does Theodore come back into the picture?" Morgan's voice asked.

"Uh, let me see… he doesn't really," Garcia said sadly.

"Maybe Theodore isn't the unsub," Morgan suggested.

"No! It fits-" a new, unfamiliar voice startled Garcia and she let out a yelp.

"Who's that?" Garcia asked, pushing her neon blue glasses up her nose.

"Garcia, meet Dean Winchester; Dean Winchester, meet Penelope Garcia, our resident tech goddess," Morgan's voice crooned.

"Dean… Winchester," Garcia's hand crept up to her throat as her voice squeaked out.

"Whoa, whoa Baby," Morgan tried to mediate, "He's one of the good guys.'

"But isn't that the name of one of those-" Garcia said breathlessly.

She couldn't believe it. Garcia couldn't believe that one of the Winchesters was in the same room as her team members.

As far as she knew, the Winchesters were responsible for the murders of more than a dozen people across the country.

"Penelope," Hotchner's voice brought her from her shocked state, "Yes, yes sir!"

"Dig deeper into Cunningham's past," he instructed, "See if you can't find something that stands out."

"Yes, I'll do my best," Garcia signed off, shaking slightly but told herself that if Morgan thought the Winchesters weren't a threat than she would too.

SPN

Aaron Hotchner stared at the worried faces around the room; they were all waiting on pins and needles for some sort of information.

"We know what that Stowe guy said; why can't we break down Cunningham's door?" Dean asked the Unit Chief.

"I understand your concern, Dean, but we cannot arrest or interrogate Theodore Cunningham without the proper authorization," Hotchner told the younger man.

"JJ is getting a search warrant for his property right now," Morgan stepped in.

Hotchner had noticed that the behaviour between the two men had changed- Morgan no longer looked like he wanted to put a bullet in Winchester's head and Dean seemed almost friendly toward the agent.

"How long will that take?" Dean asked and crossed his arms.

"JJ needs to argue the need for the warrant based on the information we have on Cunningham- if a judge decides that it enough- than we have the go-ahead to search," Morgan spoke up again before Hotchner could continue.

"We have to make sure Cunningham doesn't feel threatened- if he does, he could panic and kill Reid and Sam," Hotchner said, on the more serious side.

Dean Winchester looked like someone had outlawed pie but he nodded his understanding.

Hotchner jumped when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He looked at the caller ID and didn't think Garcia would have an answer so quickly.

The veteran agent smiled wryly; never underestimate the power of the 'tech goddess'.

"You're on speakerphone, Garcia. What do you have?" Hotchner asked as he set his phone on the table.

"Well, just to let you know, you should all worship me for my superb hunting skills-" Hotchner looked up when Dean let out a snort of laughter.

"-After looking in the deepest darkest recesses-" Penelope continued.

"Garcia, what did you find?" Hotchner interrupted.

"Oh, yes, ah if any of you had doubts about Theodore Cunningham being the unsub- doubt no more! Three months after being released from prison, Louis Cunningham returned to Brentwood and lived with his younger brother…. Before being brutally beaten to death," Garcia informed them.

"Sir, I'm looking at the crime scene photos right now and let me just say, I'm never going to look at hamburger the same way again," Garcia sounded a little sick.

"Where did the murder occur?" Hotchner asked.

"In Brentwood, actually Louis' body was found exactly in the same area of hiking trails as the ones found earlier this week," Garcia revealed.

Hotchner paused for a moment. This was it, this is was the information needed to arrest Theodore Cunningham.

"What was the murder weapon?" Morgan spoke up, surely thinking about the poor people now lying in the town's morgue.

"It was never identified… never found but the report says Louis died of severe blunt force trauma to the head… he also had fractures to the bones in his legs and arms and a number of broken ribs," Garcia recited in a distant fashion, "I'm sending the photos now. Please feel free to use your complimentary airsickness bags."

Hotchner stared down at the picture on his phone. It was clear the victim had suffered before he died- the injuries to his arms and legs were probably pre-mortem- and from scuff marks in the grass surrounding the body, it appeared that the man had been trying to get away from his killer.

"There's a lot of overkill here Hotch," Morgan spoke up, "Somebody really had it in for Louis."

The Sheriff was walking past the room and Hotchner motioned to her, "Sheriff, do you know anything about the murder of Louis Cunningham?"

The Sheriff frowned but then nodded, "Yes, my father was Deputy at the time…. Terrible thing that happened."

"Was there an investigation?" Hotchner asked.

"No, Louis was missing his wallet when he was found and the current Sheriff thought that a drifter must have robbed and killed him- we always have a lot of people going through Brentwood and nobody questioned the theory," Vita explained.

Hotchner's brows furrowed, "Louis' brother wasn't interviewed?'

"No! Poor man was so broken up about his older brother's death," Vita sounded shocked that Aaron would even ask such a question.

"Is there anything else you needed to know? They never caught the man who killed Louis," Vita offered.

"No, Sheriff, that's all for now," Hotch said, the wheels turning in his head, "Thank you."

Aaron turned to his team and Dean.

"What're you thinking, Hotch?" Morgan asked.

"Let's put the facts together: Louis Cunningham is sent to the state pen for a hit and run, than he's released and comes back home to live with his brother… It's obvious blunt-force trauma was used on the victim, and his wallet is missing. Now, a drifter could have very likely stolen a shovel or used a rock to beat Louis to death but the fact that his body was found in the same area of Brentwood as the most recent victims begs the question," Hotchner said, brainstorming out loud.

"So Theodore could have killed his brother and is now returning his victims to the place where he committed his first murder," Rossi said thoughtfully, "Sounds like a whole lot more than just a coincidence, if you ask me."

"I'll call JJ and let her know," Hotch said. At least now they had a more solid explanation for suspecting Cunningham of the murders other than just a profile. Some judges just didn't see how accurate a well-structured profile could be and sometimes refused to have the FBI tear apart a man's house and arrest him on what might seem to them nothing more than a hunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Rise Against song.


	6. Operation Rescue

Gritting his teeth against the agony in his arm, Reid squinted in the darkness, trying to hear if Sam was still breathing.

"Sam," He whispered and listened intently for a response.

Reid relaxed, although the young man did not answer him, the agent could hear his breathing clearly enough.

"Stupid son of a bitch," Reid swore; something he rarely did, but felt his heart swell in his chest for the other captive.

After the man had broken Reid's arm Sam had called out to him, trying to protect the agent:

"Stop it! Stop it!" Sam had said as loudly as he could and stared straight at their captor.

The man turned from Reid and took a few steps toward Sam.

"No, Sam! Don't!" Reid had tried to stop the other captive but his voice petered out when he saw the look on his face.

"Yeah, dumbass, I'm talking to you," Sam continued, "Are you really that stupid or do you just look it?"

That had caused an angry growl from the man and all Reid could do was watch as he advanced on Sam.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" Sam asked the man and their captor swung the crowbar.

Reid cringed as the metal bar connected with Sam's ribs and he cried out.

Panting, Sam continued to spew insults, "Is that all you've got, you pussy? My grandmother hits harder than you!"

Reid knew that Sam was taking the man's attention off of him, he knew that Sam was protecting him, but he still felt sick to his stomach as he watched the beating.

Blow after blow rained down on Sam's ribs, arms, shoulders- anywhere that was exposed until one well-placed hit to the head sent Sam into unconsciousness.

"Sam!" Reid had cried out, afraid that the younger man was dead.

The man tossed the crowbar to the floor. Reid's stomach lurched when he saw blood shining wetly on the metal.

The man had looked over his shoulder at the young doctor and then left. Just like that. He turned off the light and left them in the darkness.

Now Reid was determined to keep Sam Winchester alive. He strained his hearing to make sure he could still hear him breathe and prayed that they would be found soon. He doubted Sam had much longer to live.

Reid froze when he heard Sam groan.

"Sam," The agent whispered, "Sam, stay with me."

"Ah… Adam?" Sam's voice cracked and Reid was unsure if he was awake or not.

"Spencer," He corrected, "I'm Spencer, remember?"

"Spencer?" Sam's voice sounded a little stronger.

"Yeah, that's right. Listen, don't try to move, you might have broken bones and internal bleeding," Reid instructed. Oh God, if Sam had internal bleeding than there would be nothing they could do for him if they weren't found immediately.

"S'okay…'m okay," Sam mumbled, his slurred speech telling Reid he was quickly losing consciousness again, "S'okay…"

"Sam?" Reid tried again but received no response. He had no idea who the younger man was speaking to; all he knew was that the Winchester did not have much longer. All Reid could do was wait and pray that help came for them soon.

SPN

Dean couldn't wait anymore. He couldn't wait for some lard-ass judge to decide whether or not the team from Quantico could arrest Sam's kidnapper.

The agents stared at him as Dean made his way to the door of the impromptu command center. Agent Hotchner got to Dean first, trying to tower in an authoritarian way over the younger man, "Where are you going?"

Dean wasn't dissuaded by the FBI agent, "To save my brother."

"If you go to Cunningham's house you will be charged with obstruction of justice," Hotchner threatened.

Dean shrugged one shoulder, "Than I'll make a citizen's arrest."

The older man stepped to the middle of the doorway so Dean's exit was blocked.

"Look, I appreciate that you believe that I'm not some murdering maniac but I'd also like it if you got out of my way," Dean said in a dangerous voice. He was no longer in the mood to play games with the Unit Chief.

Apparently Agent Hotchner wasn't one to be intimidated. He did not move, staring Dean down, trying to keep him under control.

Dean's eyes narrowed. He didn't want to use force, that would just give the Agent more of an excuse to arrest him, but nothing was going to keep him away from Sam.

"I understand that you are frustrated and scared, we all are, and as much as we'd like to go out right now, we are required to follow the rules," Hotchner tried to use the diplomatic approach.

"Maybe you need to follow the rules," Dean growled, "But I am not a Federal agent."

The Unit Chief, seeming to realize that he was getting nowhere with the younger man, sighed, admiring Dean's tenacity and recalling his actions that were less than orthodox when Haley and Jack had been in danger from George Foyet, nodded his head slowly.

Dean sucked in a surprised breath when he saw the look in the agent's eyes.

"I'll go with him, Hotch," Morgan spoke up from just over Dean's left shoulder and the hunter turned to the FBI agent.

"I'm going to trust you," Hotchner said to Dean, "Don't make me regret it."

"No, sir," Dean said in all seriousness.

The Unit Chief and the remaining members watched the duo leave the police station without saying a word to one another. Aaron Hotchner hoped he hadn't made a mistake.

SPN

Prentiss smiled sadly as she watched Dean Winchester exit the building with Derek. She found herself thinking more and more about the mysterious man since she had first met him only the day before.

She had to admit that the hunter was quite attractive. She often found her gaze on him when she should have been paying attention elsewhere. She was intrigued and heartened by the man's devoutness to his brother.

Maybe there is hope for the human race after all, Emily thought with wry humour.

Ever since they'd found out about Cunningham and his brother the team had been on pins and needles waiting for the go-ahead and now that it was within their grasp, Emily was a bundle of nerves. She wanted to save Reid, of course she did- he was a member of her family just as every other member of the team was- but she was afraid of what they would find at this Theodore Cunningham's house.

She just wished that JJ would hurry up with the warrant so they could catch up to Dean and Morgan.

SPN

Dean was on the edge of his seat as the black SUV bounced along the pot-hole filled road toward Cunningham's house.

Agent Morgan had provided Dean with a gun- a government issued Glock- and also a Kevlar vest.

Dean had to smile at the navy blue vest with white letters spelling out 'FBI' on the back.

"Aw, now I'm really starting to feel like one of the guys," Dean had smiled at the other man.

Morgan grinned tightly back, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

Dean peered out the window and stared at the wooded areas along either side of the road, punctuated every so often by a dilapidated house.

"I thought for sure your Unit Chief was gonna put me in a sleeper hold or something," Dean said conversationally, trying to calm his nerves.

Morgan chuckled, "He's pretty old school but he's saved a lot of people."

Dean nodded, "I'm sure he has but, Sam's my little brother, you know? I have to be there for him."

Morgan had his cell phone ready for a call from Hotchner in case they got the warrant soon. If that call didn't come before they arrived at Cunningham's, well, he'd just have to make sure Dean didn't do anything too illegal.

"We'll be there in five minutes," Morgan told the hunter.

Dean took a deep breath, rubbed his hands over his face and then through his short hair, wondering what he was going to find at Cunningham's house.

The SUV pulled onto the wide lawn of Theodore Cunningham's home. Dean jumped from the vehicle, ready for anything.

Gaze traveling to the house, Dean saw that it looked empty, there were no lights on but the large white van in the driveway told a different story.

"You ready?" Morgan asked Dean and he nodded.

Stealthily, the two ran to the front door of the house, Morgan taking the lead as he pounded on the weathered wood.

"Theodore Cunningham! This is the FBI; we have a warrant for your arrest!" Morgan shouted.

"You know he's not going to open the door for you," Dean suggested over the agent's shoulder.

He shrugged when Morgan turned around and raised an eyebrow at him.

Morgan lifted his foot and kicked the door handle- breaking it- and he reached in and unlocked the door. The Agent took his gun out; Dean followed suit.

"Theodore Cunningham! Come out with your hands in the air!" Morgan shouted.

As soon as Dean was inside he peeled away from the profiler. He had to find this bastard and he was sorry to say that the agent was taking too damn long for his liking.

"Dean!" He heard Morgan hiss at him as he quickly made his way upstairs.

SPN

Derek swore under his breath as Dean left him alone. Maybe Hotchner should have left Winchester handcuffed to a chair in the police station after all. Not that Morgan blamed the other man; it was taking all his willpower not to tear the house apart to find Reid. The young doctor was like the kid brother Morgan had never had and like blood kin, the FBI agent would do anything to save his family.

After a moment's hesitation, Morgan leaped up the stairs after Dean, taking two at a time, his gun held at the ready in case he was caught off guard by Cunningham.

SPN

Dean peered into each upstairs room as he passed it, his heart pounding in anticipation, only to find the second floor deserted.

"Son of a bitch!" He swore and whipped around at the sound of footsteps.

Agent Morgan stood at the top of the stairs, eyebrows raised over his dark sunglasses.

"He's not up here," Dean told the Fed.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Morgan shared Dean's anxiety and both men started when they heard the unmistakable sound of an engine roaring to life.

Dean peered out the closest window and panicked when he saw that white van that had been parked in the driveway was backing up, away from the house.

"He's getting away!" He barreled past Morgan and down the stairs at a reckless speed.

No, no, no! Dean couldn't let the fucker get away. He ripped open the front door and stood on the porch, aiming his gun at the van's tires.

Dean's heart leaped into his throat when one of the van's back wheels blew out but the vehicle continued to move, picking up speed if anything else.

Screw this, Dean thought and slipped his borrowed gun into its holster, jumping from the porch and running toward the escaping suspect, intent on pulling the dirt bag from the van with his bare hands.

Cunningham gunned the engine and the van sped up, spraying dust and gravel at Dean as he hurried to catch up.

"Dean!" He heard his name shouted and flinched when a gunshot went off. Morgan must be trying to disable the van as well.

The hunter let out a snarl as the van swerved, both of its rear tires now quickly losing air, and bumped over the driveway and onto the grassy lawn.

Got you now, Dean thought as the vehicle came to a stop. His legs went weak with relief. At least they had that son of a bitch- he'd know where Sam was.

The hunter looked up as Morgan marched to the driver's side door and pointed his gun at the van's occupant.

"Theodore Cunningham, this is the FBI, you are under arrest for murder and suspected kidnapping," the agent rattled off those words like he'd said them a million times before.

Dean stood beside Morgan, gun likewise at the ready as he stared at his brother's captor. He appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties with graying hair, a clean-shaven face and blue eyes that crinkled as he grinned. Dean noticed that the man had purplish bruising around his eyes and his nose appeared as if it had been broken recently.

Dean sneered and wondered if the injury had been Sam's work.

Knew you wouldn't go down without a fight, Sammy; Dean congratulated silently.

"Get out of the vehicle right now with your hands where we can see them," Morgan instructed, ice in his voice.

Slowly, still smiling like this was all some big joke; Cunningham opened his door and slipped out. He held his hands in front of him as though ready to block any oncoming bullets with his palms. He was only a few inches taller than Dean, but much wider, and the hunter could see how he would be strong enough to subdue a grown man.

"Put your hands behind your head," Morgan said and pulled a pair of handcuffs off his belt.

Dean gritted his teeth. He wanted to ask this bastard where he brother was now.

As if reading the hunter's thoughts, Morgan spoke up while securing the handcuffs around Cunningham's meaty wrists, "Hotch radioed me while you were shooting out the tires; they got a warrant and the team will be hear in minutes."

With one hand firmly gripping Cunningham's bicep, Morgan led the older man back toward the house and instructed him to sit on the porch steps.

Both hunter and FBI agent stood over their suspect. Dean moved anxiously from foot to foot, gun trained on the smiling son of a bitch while Morgan's shaded eyes sought out the Bureau's black SUV's his team drove.

W

"Keep an eye on him," Morgan told Dean as two black SUV's and a three Brentwood police cruisers pulled onto Cunningham's property.

Dean stared down at the older man in contempt. Here was a man who tortured and starved innocent people to death to satisfy his own sick delusions. Dean's lip curled in disgust. He could never understand why people would do such horrible things to one another when they had enough demons and monsters to do perform those same acts for them.

No wonder the angels hate us, Dean thought to himself and nodded as the Unit Chief approached.

"Where are Sam and Reid? Where are they, Theodore?" Hotchner asked, slowly and clearly.

The smile dropped from the man's face. Dean bit his lip, causing a drop of blood to slide down his chin but didn't speak.

"You don't know what you're doing! You don't know! They're monsters- they deserve to die! I'm saving people!" Cunningham cried out.

Dean barely noticed when the rest of the BAU team appeared, all eyes pinned to Cunningham. Dean put his weapon away, knowing that Cunningham had no chance of escaping now.

"Where are Sam and Reid?" Hotchner repeated.

"I'm keeping those creatures from hurting anymore people, you don't understand. They're monsters! They deserve to be punished!"

Dean couldn't take it anymore, before he knew what he was doing, he lunged forward and punched Cunningham square in the jaw. The force of the blow caused the man to list to his side, unable to right himself do to his restrained hands. Morgan grabbed Cunningham's arm and shoved him into a seated position.

"My brother is not a monster, you son of a bitch!" he snarled.

Dean felt hands grabbing him, pulling him back.

"Take it easy, son," Rossi whispered in his ear and Dean shrugged off the veteran agent.

"Theodore, where are Sam and Reid," Hotchner asked, "It will be better for you if you cooperate with us."

Dean watched Cunningham grin through bloodied teeth but he saw the man's eyes move to gaze at the large corrugated steel shed beside the house.

Shit, Dean thought and peeled away from the team, heading across the lawn

"Dean!" He didn't stop when Prentiss called his name.

He heard footsteps pounding after him as he rushed toward the shed.

"Goddamn it," Dean growled as he struggled to open the garage door, "It's locked!"

"Here," Morgan's hands came into view, a pair of bolt cutters made short work of the padlock on the door's handle With a grating sound, the door slid open.

Dean stumbled inside the shed, squinting in the darkness.

"Sammy!" He cried out.

"Reid!" Morgan stepped up beside Dean.

"Morgan?" A thin voice called out but Dean's heart sank, it wasn't Sam.

A flashlight beam came on and Dean peered around- his gaze landing on the unmoving body of his brother.

"Sam, Sammy," Dean gasped and moved forward when Morgan found a light switch, "Oh God."

He stepped toward his brother on legs that felt like lead, "No, oh no. Sammy, no."

Dean got down on his knees in front of his brother, "Hey, Sammy, can you hear me?"

His brother's chin was on his chest and he was leaning against the chains binding him.

"Sammy," Dean plied, "Come on man, wake up."

Looking over his shoulder, Dean caught sight of Morgan, JJ, and Prentiss surrounding Spencer Reid.

Dean reached out and put both hands on either side of his brother's face.

"Sammy, hey," Dean whispered, "Can you open your eyes for me, buddy."

Dean shook his brother's head a little, "C'mon, Sammy, open your eyes now!"

"Dean," He looked up at the sound of his name and saw Morgan standing behind him, holding the bolt cutters.

"For the chains," Morgan said and Dean nodded, looking across the room saw Reid had been freed from his and was answering questions from his team.

With shaking hands, Dean took up the cutters from the agent, "I'm gonna get you out of here, Sammy. Just stay still."

Carefully, Dean snapped the chains holding his brother and Morgan caught Sam before he could fall forward.

"Thanks," Dean muttered as the agent gently lowered Sam to the floor.

"Hotch called the paramedics while they were en route; they should be here within minutes," Morgan said.

"Where's Cunningham?" Dean didn't want that asshole anywhere near his brother again.

"Cooling off in a cruiser," Morgan told him.

Dean's attention was caught when he heard his Sam moan.

"Sammy? Sam, you awake?" Dean asked, leaning closer to his brother.

He was greeted with the sight of two green eyes opening. Sam's gaze was unfocused and glazed.

"D'n?" Sam rasped and lifted a hand.

Dean grabbed his brother's fingers and squeezed, "I'm right here, Sammy."

Sam's eyes slipped close, "Is he safe?"

"Yeah, Sammy, Reid's fine," Dean whispered, "You did good."

There was a commotion as a half-dozen paramedics came on the scene. Dean watched as they split up- three going to Reid, three coming toward him and Sam- and couldn't help but crouch over his vulnerable brother, instinctually protective.

"Sir, we need to assess him," a female medic said gently. Dean noticed she had short-cropped black hair and honey-coloured eyes.

"Sam. His name is Sam," Dean interjected. The medic's amber eyes softened, "Sam."

She crouched down, "Sam, can you hear me?"

Dean was aware of the other two paramedics talking among themselves. He heard them speak about dehydration, internal trauma, fractured bones.

"Sweetheart, open your eyes if you can hear me," the medic said.

"He opened them earlier," Dean muttered, hoping that would help. He had little practice with Emergency Medical Responders; he was more familiar with hospitals and doctors.

"Did he speak at all?" the amber-eyed paramedic asked.

"Yeah, he uh said my name," Dean replied and peered down nervously at his brother.

Dean was reminded of the Leviathan attack in Bobby's salvage yard; Sam had been injured badly that time too. Dean hadn't been sure he was going to pull through, just like now.

"C'mon Sammy, c'mon man," Dean urged, "Open your eyes for the paramedics, eh? Show them those big, green puppy-dog eyes of yours."

The female paramedic glanced up at Dean and smiled.

"You can ride with him in the ambulance if you want," she offered.

"I don't think Sammy's giving me much of a choice," Dean smiled; his brother's fingers were still intertwined with his. He hadn't let go of Dean's hand even as he slipped away from consciousness.

Dean worked with the paramedics as they maneuvered his brother onto a stretcher. Dean had tried to pry Sam's fingers from his hand but a whimper and a tightened grip put a stop to any further disturbance on Dean's part.

The walk from the garage to the ambulance seemed to take forever. Everything seemed to move in slow motion for Dean. The local Brentwood cops stood clustered in a small group, talking among themselves and casting glances at the FBI team.

Dean's expression hardened when he caught sight of Cunningham sitting in a cruiser.

A punch in the teeth wasn't enough, Dean decided; I should have put a bullet between his eyes.

Dean shook his head slightly; he had bigger fish to fry than Theodore Cunningham.

Getting into the ambulance and settling down, Dean let the paramedics do whatever they needed to do- insert an IV line into his brother's arm, cut open Sam's shirt to assess the damage- barely giving a thought to the BAU team in other ambulance, worrying over their own injured family member.

Dean didn't care as long as he had Sammy back; as long as his brother was with him, Dean knew everything would be alright.

W

A cup of coffee was growing cold on the windowsill as Dean waited for his brother to wake up.

He had been sitting beside his brother all night, watching the rise and fall of Sam's chest, and just wishing they could get the heck out of Brentwood.

Dean sat back in the uncomfortable visitors' chair and rubbed a hand over his face. Sam had been in critical condition but the doctors had assured Dean he would make a full recovery.

Sam had been severely dehydrated and was suffering blood loss from numerous wounds. He had a few broken ribs and a concussion. The doctors had said it was a miracle there hadn't been any internal bleeding.

Dean had to agree with the docs; it really was a miracle because the Winchesters were never that lucky.

A presence in the doorway caused Dean to tense suspiciously until he saw it was only Dr. Reid.

The young man was wearing a pair of jeans, his red sneakers, and a black and white striped sweater vest over a white dress shirt. His hair looked like a rat's nest and he had dark circles under his eyes. His broken arm was held in a sling, lying across his chest.

"I thought Sam would be awake," Reid explained his reason for coming into the room.

"No, not yet," Dean sighed and his hazel eyes fixed once more on his brother's sleeping form, "But the doctors said it wasn't anything to worry about."

Dean's gaze roved over the IV drip that was giving Sam much needed antibiotics and keeping him hydrated. He saw how sunken his brother's eyes were, how cracked his lips had gotten after only three days and knew that if they had waited any longer, Sam wouldn't have made it.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked without looking at Reid.

"Just a broken arm," Reid told him.

The two men fell into silence for a few minutes before Reid spoke again, startling Dean.

"I wanted to thank him," The younger man said and Dean turned his attention to him.

"Huh?" He asked tiredly. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, worrying over Sam's prognosis.

"Cunningham came after me," Reid said, "He hit me with a crowbar but before he could do anything else Sam distracted him. He took Cunningham's attention away from me and put himself in danger."

Dean's heart squeezed in his chest. Yeah, that sounded just like Sammy. Kid couldn't bear to see anyone else get hurt and Dean wasn't at all surprised Sam had taken the beating meant for Reid.

"Does the name Adam mean anything to you?" Reid asked and Dean stiffened.

Dean gritted his teeth together and he heard Reid take a step back.

Dean's shoulders slumped, "Yeah, Adam was our younger brother. He's been dead for over two years now."

Dead was putting it lightly, Dean thought, more like he was trapped in a fucking lockbox with the Devil and the archangel Michael.

"Oh," Reid said softly.

"What… what did Sammy say?" Dean asked.

"He just said Adam's name… I didn't know why," Reid shrugged.

"Did he say anything else?" Dean pressed. He wanted to know if his brother had said something about Hell or his time in the Cage in front of the agent.

Reid shook his head, "No."

"Okay," Dean sighed and reached out to take his brother's hand.

"If I'm prying, let me know, but I was wondering why Sam said your brother's name and not yours?" Reid asked, "It's obvious you two are close-"

Dean glared at the agent, "That's none of your business."

Dean could only imagine why Sam had called Reid by their younger half-brother's name but he wasn't going to explain such a thing to the agent.

"I'll let Sam know you stopped by when he wakes up," Dean said and was grateful that the young doctor got the message because he stepped out of the room quietly.

Dean gave his brother's hand a squeeze. Sometimes Dean forgot Sam wasn't the only one who'd taken a nosedive into Lucifer's Cage. He had never asked his brother about Adam but he was sure that Sam would have protected the younger man- he was innocent after all, his only crime was saying 'yes' to Michael- and Sam's desire to protect the innocent would drive him to make sure Adam was safe, even if it meant coming to harm himself for doing so.

Dean's eyes filled with tears.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy," He whispered, "I'm so damn sorry for everything."

"D'n?" Sam's voice caused Dean to gasp and quickly wipe his face clear of tears.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean smiled, "Glad to see you're awake, thought you were going to sleep forever."

"What're you sorry for?" Sam asked and Dean cringed, he'd been hoping his brother hadn't heard.

"For letting you walk out and get kidnapped," Dean lied- he was sorry about that as well, but that wasn't what he'd been getting all emotional about- and brushed some stray strands of hair from his brother's brow.

"We have got to get you a haircut, Sammy," Dean said, "Soon you'll be able to braid it!"

Sam smiled and rolled his eyes.

"Sorry I was angry at you in the first place," Sam's eyes grew round, the green irises as light as jade, "We have to stop the Leviathans."

"Sammy don't-" Dean began but Sam just grinned up at him and spoke again.

"I'm the one who's supposed to be OCD," He said, much to Dean's amusement, "You're supposed to be the Narcissistic one."

Dean laughed out loud, feeling a little better.

"Okay, okay," Dean said, "Hey, maybe we should change your name to Howard Hughes."

That comment earned Dean another eye roll.

Dean saw that his brother's eyes were slipping closed again but his brother still managed to get the last word in.

"What are we going to do now?"

Dean gave a shit-eating grin, "Now? Now we hunt for Moby, Ishmael."

"What?" Sam asked and his brow furrowed in confusion.

Dean chuckled, "Geez Sam, don't you ever read?"

SPN

"Are you sure, Reid?" Garcia asked the young doctor for the hundredth time.

He couldn't help but smile, just a little.

"Yes, but they aren't what you think," Reid assured the technical analyst.

Garcia pushed her red-rimmed, ruby-studded glasses further up her nose, "I read their files after Derek told me the team was working with one of them and… I don't know Reid, the things they've done…"

"I know what their files say but you weren't there, Penelope," Reid insisted, "You didn't see them, hear them."

"You really think someone framed them for all those awful crimes?" Garcia blinked her brown eyes, magnified by the spectacles.

Reid nodded and shifted in his seat. His arm was still healing even though they'd been back at Quantico for weeks and ever since the team's return Garcia had been pressing every member for information.

Hotchner had kept the Winchesters' involvement in the case a secret, spinning a fairly believable lie to placate Erin Strauss, and had cautioned the team to keep up a pretense of ignorance.

Garcia's office door was closed tightly as she wheedled a reluctant Reid into talking to her. Reid didn't want to be overheard, he would be eternally grateful to Sam and his brother for what they had done and it didn't seem like a very good idea to be gossiping about them.

"They are not the monsters everyone is led to believe they are," Reid said and sighed, running a hand through his longish hair and then scratching the arm still in its sling.

Garcia's expression turned sympathetic, "They helped you, I get it and I'm happy they did but, really? What if it was just for show? What if it was just a way for them to get away again? Like all their fake deaths?"

Reid shook his head. Garcia wouldn't understand unless she met the two brothers. Which was not about to happen any time soon.

"I'm sorry, Garcia, but that's just what I believe and you won't change my decision," Reid finished and stood, "I have some paperwork to fill out."

Garcia smiled, embarrassed; Reid was the smartest person she knew and had never steered her wrong before, so why did he believe so fervently in the Winchesters' innocence?

"Oh, will you ask Emily if we're still on for Saturday night?" Garcia piped up before the young doctor was halfway across the room.

"Sure," Reid replied and opened Garcia's door.

He stepped outside and nearly ran into Special Agent Valente.

"Sorry," Reid muttered an apology. He didn't know the agent all that well, he worked with another team, but Reid had seen him around Quantico.

"Nothing to worry about," Valente assured him, "It's my fault, really."

Reid shrugged and saw Morgan watching him from his desk down in the bullpen.

"Excuse me," the young doctor sidled past the Agent and headed down the stairs.

"What'd Valente want, Kid?" Morgan asked Reid as soon as he came within earshot of the younger agent.

"Dunno," Reid sat down and pulled out a form he had to fill out, "And stop calling me kid. I'm not young enough to be put into that category anymore."

Morgan chuckled and returned to his own paperwork.

"That guy gives me the creeps," JJ commented, her eyes following Valente as he strolled past Garcia's office and down the walkway to the other side of the bullpen.

Emily turned her attention to Reid, her voice low and secretive, "Was Garcia needling you about the Winchesters in there?"

Reid nodded and sighed, ran a hand over his face. He hadn't been sleeping all that well since returning to Virginia- nightmares of Tobias Hankel and Theodore Cunningham haunted him- and he was really starting to feel those restless nights catch up with him.

Emily shook her head, brushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear, "JJ and I can talk to her on Saturday."

The team members in the bullpen all looked up when they saw Agent Hotchner strolling down the catwalk toward them, a severe look on his face.

"We have another case," He said, "A triple homicide in Rhode Island."

"Why are we called in for a homicide like that, is there something different about the unsub?" Emily ventured.

"This one's a real monster," Hotchner answered seriously and turned on his heel toward the briefing room.

I find hope in the darkest of days, and focus in the brightest. I do not judge the universe – Dalai Lama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Bad Religion song.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter title comes from a Metallica song


End file.
